


Only Different in the Details

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: Tower of Glass Houses [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF!Clint, BAMF!Coulson, BAMF!Tony, Community: avengerkink, Everyone's a BAMF, F/M, Gen, Hidden Depths, Howard's A+ Parenting, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Mature!Tony, No Character Bashing Zone, PTSD, Slow-building Relationship, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 60,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It started slowly, which is why it took so long for  anyone to catch on to the changed relationship. At the same  time, it started very quickly, which is why no one could  quite pin down when it was that Tony Stark and Clint Barton  - strangers until that first battle together - had looked at each other and connected.</i>
</p><p>Written for the prompt at avengerkink Round 13: Clint/Tony, nobody saw it coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the prompt and totally couldn't resist, partly because I love this pairing almost as much as Tony/Darcy and Tony/Darcy/Clint. ^_^ ...And then it ran away from me and became a whole universe.

**I** T STARTED SLOWLY, which is why it took so long for anyone to catch on to the changed relationship. At the same time, it started very quickly, which is why no one could quite pin down when it was that Tony Stark and Clint Barton - strangers until that first battle together - had looked at each other and connected. What no one could have guessed was that it had started, at least in part, the night Phil Coulson dropped in uninvited on Tony and, through Pepper's aid and abetting, handed the genius engineer the mission specs.

_"Seriously, am I the only one who did the reading?"_

He'd read their files. All of them, even hacking to get at the redacted bits of Rogers and Romanova's files, and it had stuck with him when he found Barton's file in the packet, even though the initial brief had mentioned Barton was compromised by "the Hostile" (aka Loki, aka the apparently estranged little brother of Big, Blonde, and Thundering from the New Mexico incident). For all the snarking and sniping he threw in the man's direction, Tony respected Coulson and knew on a gut level he'd learned a long time ago to trust that Coulson wouldn't have included Barton's file unless it was Important.

So he'd read. He'd learned, not just thermonuclear astrophysics that is highly theoretical at this point, not just the strengths and weaknesses of his supposed team mates, but he'd learned about Barton, about a man who had been considered for the Initiative and was now trapped on the other side. In the back of his mind, alongside hundreds of calculations and contingencies, he planned how he might have to neutralize someone he'd never met who he might have teamed up with under better circumstances.

He would probably never admit to the flicker of relief he'd felt seeing Barton turned out on their side in the streets of Manhattan, and if asked he would blame that for why he'd dubbed Barton "Legolas". And if he had JARVIS keep a monitor on Barton during the fight, well, he was monitoring everyone and everything. Besides, JARVIS was the only one who had to know about the very private heart attack he had, too far away and occupied with a Leviathan to do anything to help, when the building he'd dropped Barton on crumbled and sent him crashing through a window.

He only lost track of Barton's signal when he flew through the portal with that nuke and his call to Pepper failed. As Tony felt the world going dark and quiet even through the flashing of the radial sphere explosion, he hoped that Barton made it out alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**N** EVER LET IT BE SAID, Clint thought to himself as he watched Stark saunter (and how the hell he could saunter in a metal suit that had to weigh a fucking ton was beyond him) over to the relatively unscathed bar, that Tony Stark wasn't a perfect host when he wanted to be. And it was abundantly obvious, as the billionaire poured their captive insane god the requested drink, that it was only because he wanted to that Loki was getting that drink. Clint tuned out Rogers's protestations and Stark's cheerful return snark as he watched a crystal tumbler be filled with something called "Heidrun" if the bottle was anything to go by, and then a second tumbler appeared and was filled, not from the bottle, but from the clear and unlabled crystal decanter.

"Anyone else want anything?" Stark asked, absently gesturing to Thor for the thunder god to take... yep, that was the Heidrun he was handing over and directing Thor to hand to Loki, apparently choosing (wisely) to keep more than arm's distance between himself and the trickster.

"I don't think that's really appropriate--" Rogers started to say, and Clint could practically see the ice forming behind Stark's amiable smile.

...Fuck it.

"Sure, I'll have what you're having," Clint spoke up, drawing several glances. Rogers looked disapproving, Tasha looked concerned, and he wasn't going to even bother identifying the look on his erstwhile controller's face, but Stark... Stark looked measuring, silently asking a question that he might not even realize Clint could interpret.

_You know what you're asking for?_

Clint quirked an eyebrow at him - did he really think he was fooling someone whose job was being observant? - and Stark smirked slightly before pulling out a third glass to fill.

"You want a straw and a spare hand?" he asked, tone sardonic, dark eyes serious.

"Nah, I'm good," Clint answered easily, casually resting one hand on his hip - near his back holster beneath the quiver - and returned the smirk. "Though I'll take one of those little umbrellas if you've got 'em."

Paydirt. Stark snorted, the ice melting from behind his expression, and he left the bar to bring Clint one of the two tumblers, handing him the one he'd originally poured for himself and, with the flourish of a stage magician, dropping a little pink paper umbrella into the ice and dark amber liquid.

"Cheers!" Stark said brightly, clinking their glasses together and taking a long drink. Clint followed suit and kept his smile confined to his eyes as he watched Stark watch him.

He found himself wondering if Stark used honey or agave to sweeten the rooibos tea they were drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Heidrun](http://www.heidrunmeadery.com/) is a brewery in California specializing in mead.


	3. Chapter 3

**D** ESPITE WHAT SOME MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT, that was as far as it went that day. Loki was graceful enough in his defeat, possibly (though Tony doubted it) motivated by his honoring the earlier offer of a drink. Of course he'd noticed the flicker of something almost vulnerable in Trickster Boy's otherwise bone-tired and pained expression when he'd caught the scent of mead in the tumbler, but it was a distant observation. Even Rogers and his irritating disapproval hadn't seemed as grating in the face of that one moment of perfect understanding, and Tony carried that close to his chest as he let JARVIS dismantle the suit and call in SHIELD to "pick up the prisoner".

Banner was just starting to shrink down when the SHIELD flunkies arrived to take custody of Loki, so Tony took the opportunity to herd the less-verdant doctor to a nearby bathroom to clean up while he found the man some clothes.

"Seriously, first project we work on should be a fabric that stretches when you do," he said as the door closed after Banner, then retreated further in towards his bedroom with a cheery, "Don't anybody run off, now!" directed over his shoulder.

Once inside the bedroom, he automatically started stripping out of his three-day-old clothes with the intent to change into at least a shirt that didn't smell of ozone and sweat and metal and fear--

He sank onto the bed and rested his hands on his knees, breathing deeply and evenly and staring hard at the crack of his closet doors, fingers flexing as he tried to quell the tremors. Afghanistan had been bad - three months of fear, pain, and uncertainty on top of everything else - but there he'd had that burning, angry drive to defy his captors to keep him going, keep him hoping. Even the palladium hadn't done this to him, moving slowly enough that he just felt a quiet despair and the bitter, hurting desire to give everyone a last impression that they could scoff at and think, "Well, of course he'd go out this way," and wouldn't mourn. This... this was different.

_So much for cutting the wire, Cap,_ he thought ruefully, scrubbing one hand down his face. He liked being the guy to think outside and to the left of the box, liked coming up with unconventional or unorthodox solutions that didn't involve getting "the good guys" killed. Okay, so flying the nuke through the portal was pretty unorthodox, but... He'd thought he'd accepted that it was a one-way trip, and now that he'd survived it (and that was getting to be a habit of his, surviving the highly improbable) he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Alcohol was clearly out of the question. Had been ever since that disastrous birthday party, really, even if Romanova apparently didn't realize it, and wasn't that just peachy, that there was something she didn't know about him after spying on him for three months? Well, assuming Barton didn't tell her; she was his partner, after all, but then maybe he wouldn't mind keeping that one secret from her.

The knock on the door, light as it was, still catapulted him off the bed in a state of near panic from the unexpected shock. He'd almost forgotten there were other people here. Yanking open his closet, he grabbed the first shirt and pants he laid hands on and crossed to open the door, his Press Smile #13 arranging itself on his face out of habit. The expression slipped and wavered into something far less practiced when he opened the door and came face to face with Barton, still holding his Orange Vanilla Rooibos with the pink umbrella tucked behind his ear.

"Hey," the man said with a quirk of his lips that somehow translated in Tony's head to a smile even though it looked closer to a grimace. "The Doc's getting a little antsy to have pants, which is making Tasha nervous enough to send me after you."

"Nothing from the good Captain?" Tony asked, mouth on autopilot as he tried to keep from reaching up to poke the umbrella. Barton shrugged.

"Cap'll think what he likes until someone proves him wrong," he said, deliberately dismissive. "Don't really know what Phil sees in the guy."

Tony's breath hitched. He tried to cover, tried to make that catch less sob, less emotion, and more something mundane caught in his throat that wasn't pain. Too late. Barton's eyes narrowed, focused sharp and clear on Tony, and he found himself wondering if _that_ was why Barton was called "Hawkeye", and Tony hoped he wasn't about to get suckerpunched, because if Barton didn't know Phil was--

Barton smiled.

Tony stared.

"You do remember I've known Phil and Fury a lot longer than anyone else in this ragtag group, right?" he said, and the tone was almost gentle. "I'm not buying it until I see the body."

"Helicarrier?"

"Not yet," Barton shook his head. "If Phil's playing opossum again, there's a reason." A loud gurgle sounded and Barton's face turned sheepish. "Food first. I haven't eaten more than twice all week."

"Well, let's get you fed, Merlin," Tony said, trying to pretend there wasn't something soft curling just under the arc reactor. "God knows the thing I wanted most after Afghanistan was a cheeseburger."

"I heard about that," Barton said, falling into step with him. "Really, Stark, you were in LA and you went to Burger King instead of In'N'Out?"

"Lines were shorter at Burger King," Tony said with as straight a face as he could manage. He knocked on the door to the bathroom as they passed and tossed the clothes in to Banner before looking at Rogers, Romanova, and the returned Thor, and clapped his hands. "So! Shawarma?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A merlin is a small hawk with a large appetite. In'N'Out is a burger chain originating in California that has the best damn fries _anywhere_.


	4. Chapter 4

**P** EPPER POTTS, CEO of Stark Enterprises and long-suffering girlfriend of Tony Stark, was most emphatically not having a good day.

In some ways, it was better than the Expo had been. After all, Tony was alive, not slowly dying, and she wasn't seconds away from being blown up. On the other hand, Tony was suddenly in pitched battle with strange creatures coming out of a glowing hole in the sky, was flying _through_ the hole with what looked terrifyingly like a nuclear bomb, was _falling_ from the closing hole, not flying.... and Pepper was trapped on the corporate jet, forced to watch in helpless horror as the man she loved nearly died _again_.

Her therapist was definitely going to have her work cut out for her this week.

She sat, numb, for what felt like hours until the jet landed, bumping gingerly to a stop on the tarmac of LAX, her mind spinning with everything she'd seen.

She needed to call Tony.

She needed to _throttle_ Tony.

She needed to work up an official statement from SI.

She needed to call Phil and find out what was going on.

...She needed a drink.

Turning almost mechanically to collect her cell phone from the arm rest, she stilled as she saw the flashing screen declare she had six unheard voice messages.

The first was from Tony.

_"Pepper, I'm afraid homework just got upgraded to group project. We may need to remodel the tower after this one, though. And don't listen to Rogers, your baby is beautiful, even if it isn't nearly as beautiful as you. I'll try to finish up in time for breakfast."_

No goodbye. He never said goodbye anymore, as if he was afraid that saying it would mean the end. She recognized his tone, too. Brisk like he was before every "mission" he undertook, but there was a hard edge. Something had happened, something bad, and Tony was dealing with his pain about as well as he ever did.

_"Pepper, it's Rhodey. What the hell has Tony gotten himself into this time? Control's going apeshit over some huge electromagnetic disturbance above Manhattan, and Tony's not answering. Call me!"_

Rhodey. She'd need to call him soon, once she'd heard the rest.

_"Pepper... I might not make it to breakfast after all. I hate to break a promise to you, even like this... Well, especially like this. You won't be able to yell at me for this one. I... No matter what, I want you to remember that I've always needed you, even when I didn't think I needed anyone... and... I lo-- **Signal lost.** "_

Oh, _Tony_....!

She almost didn't hear the beep of the next message, but Tony's voice jolted her back to awareness.

_"Pepper, hey, it's me. Sorry, false alarm, not dead yet. Banner caught me when I fell and got the reactor going. Can we keep him? You'd like him, Pep. Guy saved my life, I think I at least owe him a room for the week... maybe some stretchy pants."_

Pepper put a hand to her mouth, though whether to hide a gasp, a sob, or a laugh, even she couldn't tell. Oh, yes, they were keeping Doctor Banner if _she_ had any say in the matter!

 _"Pepper, sorry, got off-track there. So, I was right about needing to remodel. Floor of the penthouse got pretty chewed up, not to mention the windows, and did I mention the Mark VIII is awesome? Anyway, I think Fury's gonna try and stick all of us together a lot more, so I think I'm gonna be proactive and invite them to stay at the tower when it's rebuilt. We could rework five of the floors into individual suites, right? We can talk about it at breakfast."_ Long pause. _"I love you, Pep."_

Pepper smiled helplessly. Of all the times for than man to admit what she already knew...!

_"One last thing, Pep. We need to work an archery range in on the floor above the labs. See you at breakfast!"_

...Wait, what?

Pepper sighed and shook her head fondly as she hung up with her voicemail and hit Rhodey's speed dial number. Tony Stark was either insanely brilliant or brilliantly insane, and to be completely honest? She wouldn't have him any other way.


	5. Chapter 5

**I** PROMISE THAT IT'S NOT AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS, Pepper," Tony greeted her as he slid into the chair opposite her at breakfast.

"Good morning to you, too, Tony," his girlfriend - PA? CEO? No, she was in girlfriend mode this morning if her shorts and bare feet were anything to go by - said with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow. With a touch more trepidation, she added, "What isn't as bad as it sounds?"

It was tempting, so tempting, to play on her expectations, the way he could see the glimmer of "what has Tony done _this_ time?" He was, however, trying to make a concerted effort to be more serious and mature when the situation called for it, and he and Barton had agreed that letting Pepper in on only half the story wouldn't work well for anyone.

_"She liked Phil a lot,"_ he'd told the archer. _"Sometimes probably more than she likes me. I can't put her through that roller coaster so soon after the last one."_

_"You'll put in a good word for me before telling her I'm moving in, right?"_ Barton had joked. _"'Cause I'd just as soon not get my eyes clawed out if she's inclined to blame me."_

_"Please, she always blames me first,"_ Tony had scoffed, and pretended not to see the way Barton's eyes had sharpened. He hadn't felt like explaining the precedent that had been years in the making for blaming him. To deflect, he'd added, _"I'm fairly certain she'll blame Fury for this one, though."_

Now, looking across the table into Pepper's eyes, Tony ordered his thoughts and spoke quietly and soberly. "Fury told us that Agent Coulson is dead. Agent Barton says there's a chance he's playing opossum for one reason or another and not to believe it until we see the body, but for now we have to act as if we believe he's really dead."

He didn't have to add "in case acting otherwise makes it true"; Pepper could read between the lines as well as he could. She swallowed, pressing her lips together, and nodded shortly. Tony reached out and touched her hand hesitantly, a knot inside him releasing when she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together. He squeezed her hand gently, and she offered him a weak smile in return.

"So... which one is Agent Barton?" she asked.


	6. Chapter 6

**I** T TOOK SIXTEEN DAYS, give or take a few hours, for enough of the renovations to Stark Tower to be complete enough to make more than just half the penthouse livable. Four of those days were spent in designing the new levels, and it only took that long because Tony had insisted on adding reinforced crawlspaces between the floors with palm-print recognition panels at the access points. Tony may have read the Evil Overlord list, but when he was planning on housing a superhero team boasting at least two spies, emergency pathways seemed like a sensible addition.

In the end, the residential floors were done up into individual two-bedroom apartments, two to a floor. Barton and Romanova's floor played host to a combination archery/firearms range and small gymnastics studio. The floor meant for Rogers (and Thor, when he was on-planet) contained a reinforced gym and one north-facing room with floor-to-ceiling windows that could easily become an art studio if the residents wished. Initially, Banner had been staying in one of the two guest rooms on the penthouse floor. Tony, however, was a forward planner, and the good doctor had his own floor built complete with meditation garden and "Big Guy Playroom". If anyone noticed that the second apartment on that floor was still made ready to receive someone, well, no one was crazy enough to risk mentioning it.

Dr Banner was, of course, the first to arrive in the Tower to live, at both Tony and Pepper's insistence. As a result, the labs were overhauled to allow more space and equipment to be brought in as needed.

The next people to move in were, oddly, Thor's girlfriend Dr Foster and her assistant and "cat wrangler" Darcy Lewis. Both women were quite miffed at SHIELD for failing to tell them that Thor was on Earth, so Tony offered to move them into Thor's apartment so that they would be right there when he returned. Dr Foster was suspicious, but Darcy (who had found a kindred spirit in Pepper the first time they talked) got Tony to show her the plans for the Tower, the layout of the apartment in question, and the ten floors of R&D, one of which had clearly already been marked for use in Einstein-Rosen Bridge study.

 _"Jane,"_ she'd told her boss patiently. _"The guy is offering you a job doing what you love with intimate access to what's probably going to be Thor's first stop after wherever you are when he comes back, along with funding for your research with rights to publish under your own name and not trying to send me back to Culver or turn me into an agent."_ It was funny how Tony heard, _"They aren't trying to get rid of me or compromise my loyalties,"_ when she said that.

 _"Publishing?"_ Dr Foster had said uncertainly. Tony nudged his sunglasses up further on his nose to hide his nervousness.

 _"We would, of course, like your input on our current projects, Dr Foster, but your intellectual property and patents will be your own,"_ he'd said as seriously as he could manage. Darcy had smiled brightly and nudged Dr Foster's arm.

 _"See, Jane? Let the nice man give you a shiny lab to play in,"_ she'd teased.

 _"I get to keep Darcy?"_ Dr Foster had asked intently.

 _"You get to keep Darcy,"_ Darcy had assured her fondly.

 _"With an appropriate salary for her assistance,"_ Tony had interjected, and had received the pleasure of seeing Darcy beam at him.

 _"WAY better than SHIELD,"_ the young woman said fervently.

And that had been that. Turned out that if Darcy was happy, Jane was happy, and Darcy was happy when Jane was happy and properly taken care of.

With Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis in residence, Tony was actually expecting Romanova to show up next. Instead, the next to arrive was Rogers, pulling up in front of Stark Tower on his motorcycle with an old Army duffle and a dubious expression. Tony pointed him in the direction of Darcy with the request that she take over Rogers's cultural education when she had the time and retreated to his lab. He had an email waiting for him the next day instituting Mandatory Avengers Movie Night along with a list of "recommended" choices. Tony emailed her back with a list of additions and the note that the penthouse had the most impressive entertainment center, and that Thursday night was probably the best time to do a movie night.

Romanova showed up Thursday afternoon with a small backpack and a scowl that dared anyone to say anything about her presence. Nobody did, and the closest Tony came was to give her a note with her floor number and access codes along with her ID card and to tell her she'd need to decide if she wanted to share an apartment with Barton or have one to herself.

She was the only one who didn't jump when, as JARVIS was being directed to put on "Star Wars, Episode IV, the original not the sacrilegious CG edition", Barton descended from the discreet access vent in the ceiling of the penthouse's entertainment room right before the movie started. She was not, however, the only one to take his sudden appearance in stride.

"Pull up a seat, Ceiling Katniss," Tony said, waving a hand vaguely at the room.

"'Ceiling Katniss'?" Rogers and Barton repeated, Barton in amusement, Rogers in confusion. Tony shared a look with Darcy and mentally added The Hunger Games to the movie line-up as Darcy patted the temporally displaced man on the shoulder and said, "I'll introduce you to LOLcats after the movie, Steve."

Barton elected to perch on the back of the couch above Tony and Darcy. As the movie cued up and the studio logo panned onto the screen, Tony was the only one to hear Darcy and Barton exchange brief, very quiet words.

_"Andrew Lewis is dead. PC lives."_

_"Good thing he's got an apartment ready for him, then."_

Tony hid a smile in his tumbler of tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**A** RE YOU EVER GOING TO, y'know, come out and socialize with the rest of the ducklings?"

Stark didn't start, didn't turn, and Clint almost thought the man hadn't even heard him when he pulled the screwdriver away from the panel and sat upright, one hand absently rubbing his neck. "Are you ever going to visit my lab by way of the door instead of the ceiling like a normal person?"

"Hey, you're the one who added in all these lovely crawlspace access points, Stark," Clint replied, lips fighting to shift into a grin. "Can't blame me for making use of them."

"You have issues, Barton," Stark said, but his tone was light and almost self-depricating. Clint snorted.

"Between you, me, and the rest of us, we've got an international news stand," he said. Stark turned then, raising an eyebrow at the place in the ceiling where Clint was crouched over the half-open access panel.

"Is it fair to make it international just for Romanova?" he asked, and Clint... stilled. He knew it was banter, knew it didn't carry the same weight in Stark's mind as it did for him, but....

"Afghanistan," he said, almost testingly. Stark flinched. Honest to god _flinched_ , and Clint was working out the best way to apologize when he narrowed his eyes.

"Budapest," he said pointedly, evenly. This time it was Clint's turn to flinch, because it would just figure that Stark would know about that, though Clint was sure he hadn't learned through any legal means. Before he could say anything, Stark went on, holding up a hand to count them off. "Germany, Chechnya, Mexico... hell, you could go interplanetary if you add Jotunheim."

"Point to you," Clint said at length, but he nudged the panel the rest of the way to the side and jumped down, flipping to control the momentum, and landed in a crouch four feet from Stark. To his credit, the man barely blinked, only looked mildly impressed.

"Does SHIELD give all its agents acrobat training, or just the special ones?" he asked. Clint wondered if the man was even aware that he was twirling the screwdriver in his fingers like a drum majorette with a baton.

"Product of my misspent youth," Clint answered airily. He almost wanted to elaborate, but part of him wanted to see just how much Stark knew, and the rest of him was just enjoying this. He started to revise that opinion when Stark actually leered at him.

"Too bad you didn't train with the contortionists," he said, and the salaciousness was almost over the top, just enough that Clint found himself waggling his eyebrows with a toothy grin.

"Who says I didn't?"

Stark startled into an honest laugh at that, for one brief moment looking younger, less worn and shadowed, and Clint found himself staring, captivated... and then Stark realized what he'd done and his expression shuttered again, and Clint wanted to keen from loss as he watched the walls go up again.

"I saw the press conference," he said. Stark blinked, wary, as if he didn't quite know what he was expected to do with that information.

"Do I need to apologize for not mentioning you more or something?" the brunet asked, and Clint was shaking his head before he'd even finished the sentence.

"No, no, it was fine. Really, Tasha and I don't need to be in the limelight if we can avoid it," Clint hesitated. "Cap saw it, too."

"Ah," and just like that, Stark looked... well, not old, but... weary in a way he just didn't anyplace that wasn't the lab. "How'd he take it?"

"Not... badly," Clint admitted cautiously. "I think your girlfriend must have talked to him."

"Wonderful," Stark muttered. He started to reach up, as if to rub his eyes, and halted the motion halfway, possibly just noticing the blackening grime on his hands.

"If nothing else, he can't say you don't know how to give a speech," Clint offered, making Stark smirk slightly.

"Product of my misspent youth," he parroted back, with just enough snark that Clint might have missed the seriousness if he hadn't been looking for it. Clint quirked an eyebrow at him, and they shared a brief moment of understanding, one "circus brat" to another. Then one of their stomachs growled - probably Stark's - and the moment was broken by Stark's rueful chuckle as he stood. "Must be my cue to 'come out and socialize'."

"Just for you, I'll use the door this time," Clint teased, offering the man a sweeping bow, arm making a broad arch towards the distant glass door of the lab.

Stark laughed, and Clint pretended he wasn't staring.


	8. Chapter 8

**W** E SHOULD START A CLUB," Tony said one evening as he poured the now-familiar amber liquid into two crystal decanters.

"What are we, twelve?" Barton scoffed, but took the tumbler when Tony held it out to him.

"Bite me, Barton," Tony responded cheerfully, raising his glass as if in toast before taking a sip. "No, really, we should. I mean, I know the term's supposed to be 'support group', but club sounds more, y'know, non-judgy or victim-y." Barton was shaking his head at Tony, but it was less disagreement and more admiration.

"What would we even call ourselves?" he asked. "'Issues'R'Us'?"

"'Survivors of Alcoholic Patriarchal Shitheads'?" Tony said with a rakish grin. Barton snorted.

"You know that would shorten to 'SOAPS', right?"

"Can't argue that doesn't make it sound cleaner than the actual name," Tony stared into his glass for a moment, thinking. "We might want to ask Bruce to join."

"Join what?"

Both Tony and Barton turned to look in the direction of the voice and Tony smiled widely. "Bruce! Perfect timing! We were about to get JARVIS to invite you up!" He could feel Barton looking at him and silently asking, _"We were?"_ He kept his eyes on Bruce.

"You were?" Bruce asked dubiously. Tony knew the moment he caught sight of the tumblers, saw in the way Bruce unconsciously hunched his shoulders what the good doctor was assuming, was bracing himself for.

"Bruce," Tony said gently, holding out his tumbler to the other man. "Come take a whiff of this and tell us what you smell?"

Hesitantly, almost like a frightened child (and wasn't that what they were, all three of them, when the memories overwhelmed them, what drove him to create this illusion in the first place and prompted Barton to follow him?) Bruce approached the bar and cautiously took the glass, raising it to his nose when Tony let his hand fall away to pull out a third tumbler. He sniffed the liquid in the glass and blinked, eyebrows rising.

"Is that...?" he started.

"Infusion of rooibos with orange peel and vanilla," Tony confirmed. "Makes a decent-looking Rum on the Rocks without the negative effects and/or associations."

"Oh," Bruce breathed, looking at Tony and then the glass with a new kind of respect. He looked over at Barton uncertainly. "You knew, then...?"

"Guessed," Barton admitted, raising his glass in salute to Tony. "Stark's too good a host to let a guest drink alone, but no one who does what we do would risk compromised judgement while on the clock."

"That... makes sense," Bruce admitted. He glanced at Tony with an apology in his eyes that Tony could and couldn't understand; it wasn't Bruce's fault that he'd been keeping up the illusion for so long that even people who might otherwise have known better would believe he'd pour himself alcohol with an unrestrained enemy in attendance, no matter how beaten. Tony decided not to point out that the Other Guy had a better sense of smell and had considered Bruce safe enough with Tony and Barton "drinking" to let Bruce out again.

"Takes a professional mask-wearer to recognize masks in others," Barton offered, awkwardly. He looked like he wanted to question his own statement, and Tony hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want to think about Romanova right now.

"So... should I be asking what I was about to be invited up for?" Bruce asked, shifting uncertainly. Tony slid the third tumbler across the counter to Bruce, who looked surprised and a little pleased under the uncertainty as he slid Tony's drink back to him and picked up the fresh tumbler.

"We're forming a club-cum-support group for Avengers with craptastic father figures," Tony explained. Bruce snorted in amusement, clearly startled.

"Sounds... volatile," he said, mouth twisted wryly. With a shrug, he raised his glass. Solemnly, Tony and Barton copied him, the tea-filled crystal chiming softly as the tumblers touched off each other in a toast. "What are we calling ourselves?"

"Survivors of Alcoholic Patriarchal Shitheads," Barton answered. At Tony's raised eyebrow, he offered a half-shrug and a flicker of a smile. "It's growing on me."

All three of them tensed when a loud beeping split the air. With a curse, Barton checked his watch and groaned.

"Damn, I'm gonna be late," he grumbled. He handed the tumbler back to Tony, who took it without thinking, then froze as Barton turned away. "Let me know when the next SOAPS meeting is!" he called over his shoulder as he headed for the lift.

Tony didn't answer, still staring at the hand holding Barton's glass as if he'd never seen it before.


	9. Chapter 9

**Y** OU'RE LUCKY WE AREN'T DATING, Barton," Darcy greeted him as he exited the elevator on the ground floor of the tower to find her waiting for him next to the potted ficus. "One more minute and I would have decked you for standing me up."

"You mean, you'd try to hit me, I'd dodge, you'd tackle me, and I'd grab you and start tickling you while you claim I'm not fair and I threaten to make you walk," Clint corrected, grinning when she scowled at him, the expression failing to hide the amusement in her eyes.

"One of these days I'll land a blow you aren't letting me land," she vowed, tucking her arm around his bicep.

"And on that day when the student surpasses the teacher, I shall rejoice for the return of my weekends," he teased, laughing when she pinched his arm. More seriously, he added, "You're nearly there already, you know, or Hill wouldn't keep trying to convince you to ditch the labs for the gun range."

"She'll just have to get used to disappointment," Darcy said firmly. "I'm not leaving Jane without back-up, even if I was ready. Which I'm not until Dad says I am."

"Pretty sure he's counting on that," Clint said wryly. He hesitated, feeling that flash of dark anger/fear/pain/despair/guilt that always tugged at him now whenever he remembered that week under Loki's control. "You have no idea how glad I am Loki decided to put off 'collecting' Dr Foster until after his 'grand conquest'."

"We'd have been fine," Darcy murmured, squeezing his arm slightly. She didn't tell him how she knew that, but he could hazard a few guesses. It was fine. He didn't need to know, so long as it meant his "little sister" was safe.

"So!" Darcy said after a moment of silence, during which they exited the tower and made their way to Clint's motorcycle. "Do I get to know what almost made you unforgivably late, or is it above my clearance level?"

"Dunno if it has a clearance level yet," Clint admitted, handing her his spare helmet. He waited until they both had their helmets buckled on and the intercom active before continuing, "Stark, Banner and I are forming a club."

"Ooh, sounds fun!" Darcy chirped, her voice slightly tinny in his ear through the intercom. "Is it like a secret society thing, or more a support group for the youthfully traumatized?"

"More of column B," Clint admitted, swinging his leg over the motorcycle and pausing to let her get on behind him, starting the engine only once he felt her arms go around his waist.

"Damn," Darcy responded, squeezing a little before settling against his back as he kicked up the stand and pulled into traffic. "What're you calling yourselves, 'Alcohol-Avoiders Anonymous'?"

"'Survivors of Alcoholic Patriarchal Shitheads'," he deadpanned, and was rewarded with her laugh.

"Tony came up with that, didn't he," she snickered, and he chuckled. He stopped chuckling a moment later when she asked, "How come you're still calling him 'Stark', anyway? Practically the first thing he said to me when we met was 'Call me Tony'."

"Was that before or after he said you have the boobs of a goddess?" Clint snarked.

"Before, thank you, and he used the word 'décolletage'," she snarked back. Clint blinked.

"What, really?" he asked, torn between amusement and... something darker that he wasn't sure he wanted to focus on right now, if ever.

"Actually, he used it when telling one of the lab techs to pay attention to the data collating rather than my rack," and Clint could hear the smirk. "Either dating Pepper keeps him on the lightly flirtatious side of the Force, or he's not nearly so bad as the gossip sites claim."

"So he flirted with you, too?" Clint asked absently, mind already on tracking down Stark when they got back to get the name of that lab tech.

"'Too'~?" Darcy repeated in his ear, nearly purring. Clint groaned silently as he realized his mistake. Darcy wasn't going to let him hear the end of this one.

He just hoped she wouldn't tell Tasha or Phil.


	10. Chapter 10

**I** F THERE WAS ONE THING THAT COULD BE CONSIDERED AN UNQUESTIONABLE CONSTANT, it was the fact that Anthony Edward Stark hated to be bored. He could make himself be interested in something if he had that something to do, and if there wasn't anything else more interesting going on, but first he had to actually have something to occupy himself.

His latest upgrades to the suit were being run through the JARVIS Review, the Mark VIII was being repaired, he'd actually finished the last of the tweaking on Stark Industries' new pet project the evening before, and Pepper had a meeting with the Board of Directors that they'd both agreed would be best for him to avoid. Whatever, he couldn't stand the stodgy old bastards, anyway; many of them reminded him far too uncomfortably of Stane for him to be in the same room with them without getting his hackles up or risking a flashback, depending on his stress levels.

And right now, knowing without being officially told just what Barton was off doing with the lovely and snarky Miss Lewis had his stress levels higher than he'd like.

So, rather than be in his lab or his workshop or even the garage, he'd tossed on a badly paint-stained Led Zeppelin t-shirt and gone down to one of the floors still being renovated, picked up a blow torch and, with a nod to the work crew already there, proceeded to join in welding together the metal support frames for the redesigned walls. The physical labor, while not quite the whimsy of his efforts restoring or rebuilding cars, nor with the low thrum of underlying desperation that had threaded through his every action in Afghanistan, nevertheless sent his mind into a half-state of hyper-awareness and blissful non-thought. Sparks chased along grey metal that turned red, then gold from the heat of the blue flame, stinging his arms faintly when they got away from him but never straying too far as to cause damage. Welding mask down and with the heavy t-shirt covering the reactor, he could have been any other workman on that floor and no one paid him any obvious mind.

It was through that hyper-awareness that he noticed when the elevator doors opened and a wave of silence spread through the level, awe and uncertainty and tension making this air thicker with anticipation of what this newcomer was doing here. Not a regular visitor, then, because they hadn't reacted this way to Tony's own appearance. Also probably one of the team, since very few people in or around Stark Tower inspired awe. Tony did a mental tally. Barton was off with Darcy; Bruce was back in his lab, having retreated there with the figures he'd originally emerged to ask Tony for. Thor was still off-planet - off-Realm? Whatever - and Romanova had elected to follow Pepper to the Board meeting in her guise as Miss Rushman.

Which left Rogers.

"Can we help you, Captain?" Tony heard the foreman, a slightly potbellied man in his forties named Greg, ask with careful politeness. He clicked off his blow torch to listen as he shifted to adjust his hold on the I-beam, the new angle giving him a straight shot through his visor towards Rogers, who was standing there looking as awkward as ever in the too-dressy-to-be-casual brown slacks and checked button-down.

"I... JARVIS said I could find Mr Stark here," Rogers said, and honest to god rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to bother everyone..."

"S'not a bother," Greg disagreed, while Tony privately thought, _Speak for yourself._ "We don't usually get visitors when we're on the clock."

"So... Mr Stark isn't here?" Rogers asked, and Tony wasn't sure if that was disappointment on the man's face or not. Nah, couldn't be.

Greg, however, snorted. And turned towards Tony. "Oi, you lot! Is 'Mr Stark' here?"

"No, boss!" Tony chorused along with the rest of the crew, grinning behind his welding mask. The grin dropped when Rogers actually looked crushed, and Tony sighed, shifting to brace the I-beam on his shoulder in order to free one hand to push up his mask. "Is there a world-threatening emergency he's needed for?"

"Dunno, Tony, I'll ask," Greg grinned at him, then turned to the now-dumbfounded Rogers. "You need him to save the world again?"

"Uh, no," Rogers stammered, "I just wanted to talk to him." He started, and looked at Tony directly, his expression almost wary and uncertain. "I wanted to talk to you."

Tony exchanged a couple of speaking looks with Greg, mainly of the other man asking if he was okay, Tony agreeing that he'd be fine, and Greg reminding him to just say the word if it wasn't, and then Greg gave the signal to the crew to get back to work as Tony beckoned Rogers over. "Come over here, then. If it's not classified, we can talk while you make yourself useful and hold this I-beam in place so it gets welded on straight."

Rogers frowned at him, but he must have really wanted to talk to Tony for some reason because he approached and took hold of the slender I-beam where Tony directed him, a good three feet from the weld point. Slipping into place in front of Rogers, partly to see and partly to provide protection against the sparks, Tony flipped down the mask again and fired up his blow torch, gesturing with his free hand at Rogers, then his own ear. _'Talk, I'll listen.'_

"Why are you doing this?" Rogers asked. The I-beam shifted slightly, as if the man holding it had jerked in surprise, and Tony fought the urge to reach back and smack the man. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and reached up with his free hand to reposition the end of the beam. Sparks flew as he brought the blow torch to bear, the loose bolts becoming pliant and fusing the I-beam with the upright frame. The plans for the layout had looked like this would be a recessed alcove for either a giant computer bank with flatscreen monitor or a saltwater aquarium....

"You're gonna need to be specific, Rogers," Tony said, dragging part of his attention back to the conversation. He knew Rogers hadn't meant to ask that, but since the man seemed to not be in a hurry to broach the _real_ reason he went looking for Tony, it would do.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

Tony blinked behind his mask. That... was not what he'd expected Rogers to say. If he was honest, he'd have thought the man was questioning why he was down here with the work crews fixing a wall.

"I'm not," he answered honestly. "If I was, I'd have instructed JARVIS not to tell you where I am." He stopped himself from actually saying that he hadn't thought Rogers _would_ look for him. There was a tense silence from behind him, making Tony wonder just what JARVIS had said when he'd told Rogers where to find him.

"I don't think JARVIS likes me very much," was the eventual response, at Tony was surprised to hear the rueful tone.

"Why do you think that?" Tony asked, confused. "Has he been rude? That's not like him, I'll have to talk with him about that--"

"No, no, he's been... perfectly polite," Rogers interrupted. Too polite, Tony could hear in his tone, and grimaced.

"Ah," he said. He clicked off the blow torch and drew back, gesturing for Rogers to let go of the I-beam, eyes sharp as he watched to make sure it held. It did, so he flipped up the mask and turned to actually look at Rogers. "JARVIS was programmed to mimic the personality and mannerisms of my mother's bodyguard, Edwin Jarvis. He was always pretty formal with anyone who wasn't me or Mom, at least until he got to know the person and trusted that person wouldn't hurt us." Rogers was starting to give him an odd look, so he stopped and gave the other man a tight smile. "Not the point, just... Don't take it personally. JARVIS doesn't know you yet, so he's defaulting to his formality subroutines."

"But he's just as formal with Natasha," Rogers said, confused. "Hasn't she been around for months?"

"She was _spying_ on me for months," Tony corrected, frowning. "Granted, it was for SHIELD, but we didn't know the who or why, just that she wasn't being honest with us, and that made her a threat to be monitored." He shrugged and smirked. "I mean, she's part of the team now, but JARVIS might be holding a grudge."

"Is he the only one?" Rogers asked. "Holding a grudge," he clarified when Tony raised an eyebrow.

"People who wear a mask for a living tend to expect others to do the same," Tony said after a moment, recalling what Barton had said earlier. "They don't, however, always expect a person to wear more than one."

"Are you ever going to take the masks off?" Rogers asked, voice quiet, eyes intent. Tony fought the urge to bristle or snort or deflect. He could be a Sarcastic Bastard about it later, but if Rogers was trying...

"When I think you're ready to see behind them," he said seriously, and was treated to a widening of blue eyes in surprise. Not waiting for a response, Tony stepped around him and moved to the other end of the I-beam, which was currently held in place with a clamp. "Now, unless you want to stick around and help, I've got five more support joints to weld before my three o'clock meeting."

He could feel Rogers watching him as he flipped down the mask and set his shoulder under the I-beam before removing the clamp. Rogers kept watching until the blow torch was clicked on and the blue flame brought to bear on the metal, and Tony wasn't surprised when he finally felt Rogers turn away and leave.

He made a mental note to talk to JARVIS about being nicer to the guy before letting himself sink back into his work.


	11. Chapter 11

**C** LINT FELT ONLY MARGINALLY APOLOGETIC, all told, about embarrassing Phil with a gigantic bear-hug the moment the man stepped off the Quinjet at the rendezvous point. He kept it brief, though, giving way to let Darcy take her own crack at his handler, which consisted of a punch to the shoulder followed by a painfully gentle hug. Phil's eyes were strangely soft as he returned the hug, and Clint found himself smiling softly. The expression (a rarity from him, especially given his previous tactic of looking away from "mushy emotions") earned him a raised eyebrow from Phil.

They didn't actually say anything until they're underway, Clint driving a SHIELD standard issue black van with his motorcycle stashed in the back, strapped down so as not to slide about, with Darcy riding shotgun and Phil stretched out on the backseat.

"Who all knows?" was the first question.

"Aside from us?" Clint asked. At the nod he could see in the rear view mirror, he added, "I implied to Stark, and we agreed he should tell Potts. Tasha might know, but if she does she hasn't said, and neither Banner nor Rogers knows. How bad was it?"

"Bad," Phil admitted. He glanced at Darcy, who looked pale and tight-lipped, but unsurprised, then back at Clint's reflection. "Moscow with a little of East Berlin in a tango with Puento Antiguo." Clint whistled.

"That's..." (He trailed off and resolutely didn't look at Darcy.) "...an impressive combination," he said at length.

"You know I was _there_ for Puento Antiguo, guys," Darcy drawled. "And Clint's already told me about Moscow." She frowned. "Why East Berlin, though? That was the one with the double agent in the flower shop, right?"

"Because the only other thing that fits can only be described with Greenwich-Mean coordinates," Phil said dryly, and Clint tightened his hands reflexively on the steering wheel as Moscow (his recruitment of Tasha), Puento Antiguo (legends come to life), and East Berlin standing in for the middle of the fucking _ocean_ line up in his head.

"Rogers is gonna either go ballistic or catatonic when he finds out," he said lowly. He can't even bring himself to blame Rogers for what will be his eventual freak-out.

"Then don't tell him until he's gotten over the shock of seeing Dad alive," Darcy said pragmatically. She was still pale, but Clint could tell she was pushing her way past it in order to process the new information, and it was no wonder Hill wanted to recruit her, really. "For that matter, don't tell me. I'm still processing how you could pull off a Moscow in three and a half weeks while playing Michael Clayton."

"Michael Clayton brought in Jason Bourne," Clint answered a little dazedly. He shook his head. "Rogers isn't the only one who'll have a shit fit over this. Tasha's already having her world view shaken, but this?"

"What's wrong with Natasha?" both Phil and Darcy demanded. Clint shook himself out of his daze and grimaced.

"She's the one who did the eval on Stark, remember?" he said, seeing Darcy wince and Phil's lips compress. "She doesn't like being wrong, and it's messing with her head that she missed what she thinks I saw immediately."

"Which is?" Phil prompted. Clint hesitated, but only for a second. Phil needed to know.

"That Iron Man and Tony Stark are both just two masks covering the same person," he said carefully. "And that he's not nearly as self-absorbed and oblivious as he pretends to be."

"...I gave him your file with the briefing," Phil said at length, after the three of them had digested Clint's words. Darcy frowned thoughtfully.

"I am almost seventy-five percent sure he knew who I was when he offered Jane and me space in the Tower," she said.

"'Me and Jane'," Phil corrected absently. Clint coughed to hide a snigger.

"No, _Jane_ and _me_ ," Darcy fired back. "He played her perfectly, offering her the space and the incentives, then backing it up with an offer to me, too."

"You imply he was dishonest?" Phil was starting to frown, and Clint was close to it, too, but not quite for the same reason.

"God, listen to yourself!" Darcy said, throwing up her hands. "He's about as dishonest as any of _us_ , and in mostly the same ways." She poked Clint in the shoulder, frowning at him. "Keep an eye on him next time you guys go into battle to save the world. That man gives off Sofia vibes like nobody else."

 _Sofia_. Clint had to repress a shudder, remembering that one. By the time he'd been extracted, he was two-thirds of the way to dead and didn't know it, so focused was he on keeping his small gaggle of Bulgarian refugees alive and safe from the military that it had taken a direct order from Phil to stand down before he could relax even a little.

"How do you know about Sofia, Darcy?" Phil was asking, looking just a touch alarmed.

"Dad, please, I've been hacking SHIELD databases for the betterment of security since I was twelve," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Not the point. You need to keep an eye on him before he gets crushed in his flying tin can and makes it pick him back up because the rest of you have bruises."

"He's really that bad?" Clint said softly, worried. He'd known Stark could do the self-sacrifice thing for someone he cared about, definitely for the Greater Good when the chips were down, but what Darcy was implying was a near-suicidal level of "put others first, because I'm not important" mentality.

"Miss Potts is his girlfriend...." Phil started, but Darcy was grimacing.

"Yes, and they're very cute together when she's actually in the Tower," Darcy replied, her pensive expression at odds with her droll tone. "She doesn't sleep there, though, unless it's in a separate room." She glanced at Clint and he reluctantly shook his head.

"They aren't sleeping together in any sense," he said, checking the rear view mirror before turning off onto the ramp that would take them away from the highway and into Manhattan. "It's... I don't know, every time I've seen them together it's seemed like they're waiting for something."

"Can you guess what they might be waiting for?" Phil asked. Clint knew the question was directed at him, but it was Darcy who answered, her voice low and tight.

"The end," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "It didn't click until you said it, Clint, but... they're waiting for the end, aren't they?"

There was nothing either Clint or Phil could think to say to that.


	12. Chapter 12

**T** ONY STOOD AT THE BAR, roughly in the same place he had stood only hours before with Bruce and Barton for company. This time, however, he was alone, one crystal tumbler positioned directly in front of him. Just beyond the tumbler stood two containers of amber liquid. On the right was the usual decanter, crystal walls containing the soothing Orange Vanilla Rooibos he'd developed a taste for so many years ago. The left... well, the left-hand bottle was unopened, still sealed tight as it had been when the bar was first stocked with all that alcohol he would never drink.

Tony rested his hands on the counter, evenly spaced on either side of the tumbler, and stared fixedly at a chip in the marble just beyond the edge of the glass to his line of sight. The last time he'd had any sort of alcohol had been that disastrous birthday party while he was dying, the effects of the palladium poisoning leaving him already so shaky, so unsteady and seemingly drunk, that the two glasses of bourbon he'd had that night had gone straight to his head in a bad, bad way, reminding him forcefully of why he hated alcohol and avoided it at all costs unless social mores dictated he must partake of wine or champagne. Before that, the closest he came was ordering two vodka martinis, intending to give both to a shaky-sounding Pepper; the photographs of Gulmira and the public mockery of camraderie forced on him by Stane had wiped those thoughts away pretty quickly, though he still wished sometimes that he'd thought first to tell Pepper that something was wrong and he had to leave.

He was getting better at that. Really.

And it wasn't like he was losing her completely, he could acknowledge that. She was still his CEO and his friend, would probably still call him at inconvenient times to remind him of inconvenient meetings with inconvenient people for Reasons.... It just, well, _hurt_ that, after so many years of gravitating towards each other, after he'd finally gotten up the courage to say something, to act, after their slow mutual dance of courtship... after all that, it was over, done, finite, and he wasn't sure how to feel. Break-ups were supposed to be more miserable than this, right? More tears and chest-beating and moping? More than just this... quiet agreement and separation.

_"I do, y'know. Love you."_

_"Oh, Tony... I love you, too."_

_"Yeah. But I guess we're not..."_

_"...In love. No, I suppose not."_

_"I still need you, Pep."_

_"I know. It's a good thing I love my job as well as you."_

_"You are very good at it."_

_"...Thank you. Ahem. Will that be all, Mr Stark?"_

_"Yes... thank you, Ms Potts."_

It really wasn't the end of the world, if Tony thought about it. After all, the only thing that was likely to change would be a cessation of kissing and cuddling on the couch. He might still beg her to be his "plus one" at whatever charity event or gala he was required to put in an appearance at. They might still meet for one meal or another to coordinate their schedules and share relevant updates.

Tony snorted softly, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. Pepper had been right. They both had been. He loved her and he needed her, but the spark, that nebulous whatever it was that caught people off-guard and knocked them flat with the realization that "I am in love with this person" just... wasn't there anymore. It was the end of an era, sure, but was it really bad enough to warrant breaking that seal?

"Sir, Master Barton and Miss Lewis are returning," JARVIS intoned, interrupting his thoughts.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Tony replied automatically, then paused. "Is he with them?" The AI paused as well.

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS said after a moment. Tony relaxed slightly, slumping partially over the bar and propping himself up on his elbows, hands laced at the fingertips above the glass, just enough to rest his forehead on his knuckles.

"Good," he said on the end of a breath he hadn't be consciously holding. "Good."

He was in the middle of trying to recall where he'd stashed that black collector's portfolio when the elevator doors slid open and Barton's voice sang out. "We're back!"

"So I see," Tony said, though he didn't raise his head. One... two... yes, three sets of footsteps, one slightly unsteady. He heard one of the other sets falter slightly and knew his position had been spotted.

"...Having a private party?" Barton asked. Tony might have scoffed if anyone else had said that, but there was enough concern underlaying the words that he just couldn't bring himself to summon his usual snark.

"Contemplating the ethics and etiquette of alcohol consumption following the end of a relationship," he said after a moment. The steps drew nearer and he could actually hear three separate sets of breath rhythms, god, he was focusing too hard. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Agent."

"Thank you, Mr Stark," came the even response. Except it wasn't as even as he'd come to expect, sounding ever so slightly thready and breathless. That forced Tony's head up and he peered sharply into the face of Agent Philip James Coulson.

"You look like hell, Ph-- Coulson," he said. Ignoring the exchange of glances between the three, he straightened and stepped around the bar, leaving the empty tumbler and both bottles where they were. "How long have you been out of medical?"

"That's classi--" Coulson started, but Darcy interrupted.

"About six hours after he was admitted to medical," she said, glaring at her father. "You're going to have to tell him anyway, Dad."

"The only one who is authorized to know anything about my medical condition is the Tower's resident physician," Coulson said sharply, then winced and made an abortive gesture towards... ribs? Huh.

"That would be Dr Edward Anthony," Tony said absently, as he pulled out a bar stool. Barton was apparently quick on the uptake, because he gestured for Darcy to help him and managed to get Coulson sitting on the stool. "At least until we can get Dr Banner board-certified so Dr Anthony won't have to rely on robots for surgical assistants..."

"And is 'Dr Anthony' board-certified?" Coulson asked, speaking over Darcy's "Robot surgical assistants?!"

"Went to medical school, completed the degree, and did his residency like any other doctor," Tony confirmed. He picked up Coulson's wrist, fingers lightly pressed to the pulse point, and counted. Offhandedly, he added, "You're actually looking very good for what the helicarrier's security footage shows of your injuries."

"What do you mean by that?" Darcy asked, frowning. When Tony pressed his lips together and shook his head, she turned to glare at her father. "What does he mean by that?"

"You respect doctor/patient confidentiality?" Coulson said, not answering his daughter. Tony couldn't quite place the expression. It wasn't exactly measuring, but... Evaluating, maybe? He gave himself a mental shake.

"Nothing you tell me goes any further," he said, then added, "Well, barring emergency situations where your life or someone else's is on the line, or verbal permission otherwise."

"Not written?" Barton asked, sounding interested. Tony shot him a look.

"Notes can be forged, even to within passing JARVIS's analysis of handwriting and syntax. Verbal permission only," He cocked his head to one side, thinking. "Maybe a passcode or something to verify you're wearing your own face."

"Should that be a concern?" Coulson asked and, yep, there was that little crinkle by his right eye indicating he was trying not to smile. Tony drew himself up to look down his nose at the man, admittedly easier with him sitting, and pulled out Offended Frown #3.

"SHIELD's paperwork has things like 'passcode for identity confirmation in the event of body-swapping' and 'preferred name for accidental gender reassignment'," he informed Coulson with mock-severety. "That tells me that a) there is a very real concern of that kind of thing happening, or b) someone in SHIELD's HR reads too many comic books."

"'Accidental gender reassignment'? Really?" Darcy asked, then eyed Coulson warily. "Is that why you don't want me to be an agent?"

"It's probably the 'retroactive consent in case of sex pollen' part," Barton deadpanned, so seriously it was hard for Tony to tell the man was at least partially joking. "No parents wants to know that about their child."

"And on that note," Tony broke in, not liking the sudden gleam in Darcy's eyes, "Let's get you either to the lab or to Medical and get you checked out so we know you aren't about to die for real."

"You're willing to let me into your lab?" Coulson asked as he let Darcy and Barton help him up. "I feel honored."

"As well you should," Tony sniffed. He started for the elevator, but paused when Barton said his name.

" _Tony_. Are you okay?"

Tony stilled, glancing at Barton uncertainly. Barton's eyes flickered towards the bar before returning to Tony with concern and... sympathy? Wow. Apparently Barton hadn't forgotten that Tony had been upset before Coulson's return had distracted him, and instead of asking what was wrong or what Tony had done this time, he wanted to know if Tony was okay. Tony could count the number of people who would do that on one hand, and it made something warm twinge behind the Arc reactor that Barton was one of them, enough that, for a moment, he let himself smile, just a little, without premeditation.

"I'm getting there," he said, then shook himself a little, turning away before he could decipher anything he wasn't ready to think about in Barton's expression. "Now let's go see what needs patching on our illustrious Supernanny before the next planetary emergency comes a-calling."


	13. Chapter 13

**C** LINT VOLUNTEERED TO STAND GUARD OUTSIDE THE LAB, ensuring Tony, Phil and Darcy got as much privacy as possible. The room was soundproofed and Tony had told JARVIS to turn the glass translucent before the doors closed, so all he could see were vague silhouettes moving across the opaque surface.

Banner was the first to find him, stepping off the elevator looking more disheveled than usual and very obviously regulating his breathing. He slowed when he caught sight of Clint, but JARVIS was already sliding the doors open to admit the man (sensible, given Phil's medical history and Banner's upcoming status as board-certified Tower Doctor #2) so Clint wordlessly stepped aside to let him in and then resumed his guard stance as the doors slid closed.

Surprisingly, Rogers was the next to arrive, looking pensive. He drew up short when he saw Clint standing outside the obviously closed lab, his frown deepening.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, eyes flicking from Clint to the closed doors and back to Clint. Clint shrugged.

"Won't know until the Doc gets done examining the patient, but probably not," he said honestly. Rogers' face twisted strangely in something that looked like worry mingled with exasperation.

"Do you know how Stark got hurt?" he asked. Clint stared at him, something hard forming in his chest as he registered that, yes, Rogers was essentially asking _"What has Stark done this time?"_

_"...She always blames me first..."_

" _Doctor_ Stark," Clint said, his voice as controlled as it was on any mission, "is the Tower's resident physician, not the patient. And yes, Rogers, he is a licensed and board-certified medical doctor, among his other scholastic accomplishments."

"He's in there playing doctor while intoxicated?!" Rogers exclaimed. Clint saw red, and he registered the pain in his hand dimly as he saw Rogers' head snap back and sideways.

"Listen to me, _Captain_ ," Clint growled, staring down the shocked man, fire in his eyes. "Tony Stark does not 'play' with people's lives, especially not the lives of his friends. Nor is he likely to ever be found intoxicated, because barring social obligations the man _does not drink_."

"I've read his file--" Rogers began, but Clint cut him off with a sharp laugh.

"Which one? The thin file Tasha put together after observing him for three months, or the one with its own file cabinet that was started by Agent Margaret Carter?" Clint felt a flicker of sadistic satisfaction at seeing Rogers look as if he'd just received another punch.

"Peggy?" he said, voice tight, eyes confused and wounded. "Peggy knew... But, why didn't Stark--"

"Say anything?" Clint snorted. "He wouldn't. Defense mechanisms aside, he's not intentionally cruel to people. Only reason I know is because I spent three days reading his file before I moved in." He looked up at the camera point opposite the lab doors and added, "Yes, JARVIS, you can tell him that. Fair's fair, since I know he's read my file, too."

"As you wish, Agent Barton," JARVIS intoned, and Clint could have sworn up and down that the AI sounded _approving_. Rogers was looking lost, and Clint sighed, forcing his anger back down to try and reason with the man.

"Look, Captain," he said, hoping he didn't really sound as tired as he felt, "Fury seems to think that you'd make a good leader of this little ragtag group, and half the time I'm willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt when he makes a crazy-sounding call." He held up a hand, forestalling whatever Rogers had opened his mouth to say. "I'm not saying he's wrong, and I'm not saying he's right, but if he gave you the thin file instead of the real file on Tony Stark, it was a very poor miscalculation on his part." _And if he did it on purpose, I want to know what the fuck he's playing at,_ Clint thought darkly. _Because even Tasha agreed Cap would take one look at that file and write the person off as useless to the team._

"...Where can I find the real file?" Rogers asked. Clint nearly grimaced as he saw that stubborn look entering Rogers' eyes.

"Phil Coulson's office," he supplied, and saw Rogers go pale. Carefully, recalling that he and Tony hadn't gotten around to mentioning to Rogers that Phil was alive, he added gently, "Rumors of Phil's demise have been greatly exaggerated."

"I understood that one," Rogers said with a weak smile. "He's really...?"

"In the lab getting checked over by the Tower's resident physician," Clint nodded. _And probably filling Tony in on why his medical file reads like a science fiction novel._

"Can I see him?" Rogers asked hesitantly. Clint shook his head.

"Not right now," he said. "Dr Stark takes doctor/patient confidentiality very seriously. We'll probably be gathering in the main sitting room of the penthouse for a 'why we can't all rip Fury a new asshole or six for lying to us' meeting if the doc gives him the all-clear."

"When, Agent Barton," JARVIS broke in smoothly. "Sir has allowed me to inform you that his patient will be completely recovered within two days, barring unforeseen complications."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Clint said, inclining his head in the direction of the camera, completely unsurprised that Tony was monitoring their conversation even while looking after Phil. To Rogers, he added, "Maybe you should track down Tasha and let her know-- hm." He thought for a moment, then said, "Tell her, 'Мертвых, которые можем сказать секреты, не мертвы.'"

"Uh," Rogers floundered. "Say it again?"

Clint repeated the phrase carefully, then did it again when Rogers mangled the phonetics at first.

"Мертвых, которые можем сказать секреты, не мертвы," Rogers said carefully after the sixth try, and Clint smirked, nodding. Eying his expression, Rogers said, "You'd better not have made me memorize something Agent Romanova will try to kill me for."

"Damn, if I try to do that now, you'll be expecting it," Clint drawled. Shaking his head, Rogers turned and headed back to the elevator. Clint watched him go, and wasn't surprised when JARVIS spoke almost as soon as the elevator doors slid closed behind the super soldier.

"Sir would like for me to inquire, 'What happened to Cap'll think what he likes until someone proves him wrong?'" Clint's smirk shifted almost without conscious thought into a small smile.

"I realized that someone has to actually prove him wrong before the stubborn idiot changes his mind," he said. There was a moment of silence.

"Sir says that is fair enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." - Attributed to Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain, and re-quoted ad nauseum.
> 
> "Мертвых, которые можем сказать секреты, не мертвы." - "The dead, who can tell secrets, are not dead." This was translated and re-translated through Bing Translator, as I do not speak or read Russian.
> 
> Let me also add that, while I very much like Steve, this storyline does require him to exhibit his canon stubbornness more than some fans might wish. I hope I've managed that without sliding into "bashing" territory, as I intend to avoid character bashing at all costs.


	14. Chapter 14

**T** ONY WAS IN A BAD MOOD. Not that he let anyone know that, of course, but he'd just had an enlightening (and slightly embarrassing) conversation with Ph-- Cou-- _Phil_ , damn it, he was Phil now, and apparently they had more in common in their history than Tony had been consciously aware, and it was not helping Tony's state of mind, having dredged some of his own bad childhood memories to the front of his brain.

_"Wait, Dad, you're telling me that you were part of the attempt to revive Project Rebirth right after Steve's crash?"_

_"We both were, though from my understanding Tony's inclusion in the program was not Howard's intent."_

_"Probably was Obie's, though, I mean, hindsight and all, and the fatality rate in the kids was-- Oh, hey, take it easy, Bruce, it was a long time ago and both Dad and Obie are dead now."_

_"...Does this mean Phil qualifies for SOAPS membership?"_

He fought the urge to rub his temples. Hindsight could only do so much in parsing the how and why that he, as a scrawny and sickly five-year-old, had been in among the group of children ages two to twelve who had been "collected" for the experiment. Patchwork memories of pain in his arms and legs, of clinging to an older boy called "PJ" as they were herded into the radiation chambers, the screams and crying around them and in their ears as they were changed, twisted, broken down, their small bodies put through what his adult mind clinically noted was Vita-Ray exposure, but the serum had either been wrong or not the right dosage or _something_ , because twenty-five children went into that chamber and only four had emerged alive. "Failures", they'd been declared, because whatever had killed the rest had brought them, those "lucky" four, up to human normal levels, but had... stopped.

Hindsight let him view his father's discovery of him among the survivors and his resultant explosion of rage more dispassionately, able to entertain the possibility that Howard had actually been angry that his son had nearly died in a procedure he wasn't supposed to have even known about, much less have been a part of, but all his child-self had known was that Father was Angry and he'd been roughly separated from the other three survivors and taken home. He'd huddled in his room, listening to the screaming row below as his parents fought, and had wished for the first time that he hadn't survived.

Tony moved to scrub his hands over his face before remembering the black portfolio he'd retrieved from his lab and tucked under his arm. He'd found "PJ" now, obviously, but the other two were still in the wind. Darcy had been more than a little appalled at what had happened to him and her father, so much that she hadn't even argued when Phil had gently insisted she get tested for possible hereditary serum effects in her blood and, fuck, that was a whole new kettle of fish he had to consciously face now.

_Me, Phil, Bruce, possibly **Darcy** , and if the Red Room wasn't using some sort of variant of the serum in the Widow Program...!_

Rogers was the original, the "golden standard" that had been held up for all subsequent attempts, so that left Barton as the only "normal" one of the group. Tony snorted. The numbers ran in many directions, but given the likelihood of the original Super Soldier plus three (maybe four) attempted recreations ending up on the same team? It was just as likely that Barton was about as normal as the rest of them, in which case Tony was pretty sure the Universe at large was fucking with them, even with the effort Tony put in to tracking anyone who even glanced at research related to Project Rebirth.

"Sir?"

Tony shook himself and straightened, game face on before the doors of the elevator slid open. He could see the rest of the team (plus Darcy and Jane, and minus Thor) already gathered on the couches, making him the last to the party. Whatever, at least he wouldn't be having a total meltdown in front of them any time soon unless something _else_ cropped up.

Crossing to the bar, Tony asked the room at large, "Anyone want anything before we get started?"

"Tequila," Darcy muttered. She still looked pale and tense, and leaned into Phil when the man put his arm around her. Rogers looked like he was trying to process their relationship to each other and coming up with "cellist", so that was probably going to be a fun detour of the upcoming conversation.

"The usual?" came from Barton, and Tony managed an expression that was closer to a smirk than a grimace as he tossed off a sloppy salute. The decanter was right where he'd left it, as was the tumbler, but--

"JARVIS, run a toxicity scan on this," Tony said, almost before he'd consciously registered the much more full decanter and the missing bottle of bourbon. From the couches, Rogers sat up straighter.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. Tony fought down a surge of irritation, sternly reminding himself that this was supposed to be a team, and kept his expression calm as he set the portfolio aside to focus on the decanter.

"Maybe nothing," he said with a half-shrug, "but I've found it's best to be cautious when things aren't the way I left them."

"Sir, the toxicity scan indicates the contents to be ninety-two percent Old Bardstown Gold Label Kentucky Bourbon with eight percent Infusion of Rooibos Vanilla and Orange Peel."

Tony's mouth tightened, eyes flashing towards the group on the couches. Rogers looked confused, Barton and Bruce looked dismayed, and Phil and Darcy looked concerned, and Romanova looked... guilty? His eyes met hers squarely, staring her down even as he heard Rogers demanding an explanation from Barton about the contents. Romanova met his gaze, a wince twinging at the corners of her eyes, shoulders tense and slightly hunched from their normally straight posture. Well. Not what Tony might have hoped for in the way of a peace offering, but it was the thought that counted, right?

"Probably my fault," he said, breaking through the burgeoning argument. "Ah, well, that'll teach me to leave ambiguous 'crime scenes' behind when I get distracted." He only saw Romanova blink because he was looking for it. Very slightly, he nodded in her direction, and he knew by the way her eyes widened a moment later that she caught it. Satisfied, he added, "Barton, is water okay under the circumstances?"

"Do I still get a little umbrella?" Barton said, raising an eyebrow. Tony nodded and turned to dispose of the decanter contents while pouring water for himself and Barton and getting the requested tequila for Darcy since he figured Phil would have objected if he didn't want her drinking it.

"Why would you want one?" Rogers asked, sounding honestly bewildered. Tony smirked to himself and called out flippantly, "Four different ways to use it as a weapon in a pinch!"

"What, really?" Barton called back, clearly grinning. "I just like feeling pretty!"

"And you are oh, so pretty," Tony drawled, stepping around the end of the bar, three glasses balanced in his hands, the portfolio tucked back beneath his arm once more. He presented Barton with a tumbler of water and ice, topped with a bright purple paper umbrella this time, with an overly dramatic bow, before handing off the glass of tequila to Darcy with a less flamboyant flourish. She blinked at the glass, then at him, then took it almost mechanically and, after sniffing it, downed half the glass in one gulp before going back to staring at the carpet. Exchanging a glance with Phil, Tony took a seat across from Rogers, which placed him next to Jane. "So, recap for the purposes of this meeting. Agent Coulson, they're your medical records, you wanna do the honors?"

"Might as well," Phil agreed, inclining his head slightly. "I trust you are all, mostly," he nodded to Jane, "aware that there have been several attempts by various governments to restart Project Rebirth."

"That's what originally made Steve all 'whoa, momma'," Darcy said to Jane, gesturing at the blushing super soldier with the hand not holding her tequila.

"And what General Ross was messing around with that caused Bruce's little 'accident'," Tony added before taking a sip of his water. Bruce inclined his head a little, and Tony could see the green flickering in those normally brown eyes, but it was banked rather than roiling, a tiny flare at what he knew must be a much-hated name.

"Precisely," Phil said, his dry tone at odds with the slight quirk of one side of his mouth. "In 1968, a well-funded team of scientists managed what they thought was a reconstruction of the serum developed by the late Dr Abraham Erskin. In January of 1969, the team tested the serum on a sample group of twenty-five subjects ranging in age from two years old to twelve."

"Kids?" Rogers was the one who'd spoken, but he wasn't the only one clearly horrified by the news. Bruce was controlling his breathing, even though he'd already heard this down in the lab. Romanova looked stone-faced, and her hands were twitching like she wanted to reach for a weapon. Jane looked aghast, and Darcy looked ill. Only Barton was displaying a lack of reaction similar to Tony's own, though Tony thought it might be a toss-up as to whether it was because he already knew or... he already knew.

"From ages two to twelve, yes," Phil said. "Most were street kids, homeless or orphaned, the type few people would have missed in those days. A few came from... undesirable home situations of one type or another. One of them shouldn't have been there at all." Tony resolutely did not react, and thankfully no one looked at him.

"None of them should have been there!" Rogers exclaimed. Jesus, the man looked like he wanted to leap up and race off to the rescue of those kids forty-two years late.

"I'm certainly not condoning their choice of testing range," Phil said sharply. He took a breath, and Darcy laid her head on his shoulder, causing him to smile briefly down at her. "Nevertheless, it was what it was."

"What happened to them?" Jane asked, her voice waivering slightly. Tony winced internally even as Phil grimaced.

"Of the twenty-five designated subjects, only four survived the procedure," he said quietly. "All boys, ages two, five, seven, and ten."

There was silence. Tony could see Rogers struggling to digest the fact that some group somewhere had been testing the super soldier serum on _children_ and, of a sample group of twenty-five, only four had lived.

"Which one were you?" Romanova asked, breaking the tense silence. Jane gave a choked sound of dismay and Rogers looked practically ashen as all eyes turned to Phil.

"I was ten," Phil said. Tony had to admire the man's control. He certainly wouldn't have been able to admit to being a child science experiment with that much calm. "The four of us, despite being the only survivors, were still deemed to be failed experiments. The serum worked in so far as to bring us up to 'healthy normal' for our ages, but nothing beyond that, at least as far as could be tested for. The five-year-old's father discovered the testing and shut the team down, the other two disappeared into the system, and I, for lack of anywhere else to send me, was sent to boarding school on the science team's dime."

Rogers was starting to look like he wanted to punch something again, so Tony bit the bullet and did what he did best: deflect attention.

"There's been some theorizing about why it didn't work as expected," he said, blithely ignoring the way Rogers started to glare. "I mean, the notes from the team indicated a belief that because you, Rogers, were already an adult, that the serum didn't work because the kids hadn't finished growing and the serum couldn't just age them up, so, fzzt! Failed." He shifted, leaning sideways onto the arm of the chair to get Jane out of the line of sight for that disapproving glare and continued, "Erskin's notes, however, talked about the serum 'bringing to the outside that which is inside', and, let's face it, what kid is anything inside other than a _kid_? But since the scientists were trying to force something to happen, the serum ended up trying and, as a result, most of the kids couldn't handle having their insides scrambled like that." He looked pointedly at Rogers. "I've seen the footage, Captain, I'm sure you remember what it felt like. Anyone who survived that would have had to have a very strong will."

"So, will power? That's what you're going with?" Barton asked. He looked and sounded only curious, though, which made Tony smile a little even as he gestured to Phil.

"Man stood up to Loki with an experimental weapon and no back-up," he said. "Sounds like either strong will or insanity to me."

"And incidentally," Phil broke in, "the lingering serum in my blood combined with the radiation from the staff is how I survived long enough for the medics to enact emergency measures despite heart and respiratory failure." Darcy shuddered slightly and downed the rest of her tequila in two long gulps. Tony asked silently with a glance to the glass if she wanted a refill, but she shook her head, setting the now empty glass on the table and curling in closer to her father.

"How do you know any of this?" Rogers persisted, still staring at Tony. Controlling his irritation was getting more and more difficult, but hey, in for a penny....

"Stark Industries has kept tabs on anyone who even looks at Project Rebirth ever since that team was caught experimenting on kids," he answered coolly, expression set. "If those two kids hadn't disappeared when they did, they probably would have gotten the same deal as our favourite Agent did."

"Why?" and good fucking gods, would the man not give up? "I mean, I know why Howard would keep track of that, but--"

"Because it's damned fucking dangerous!" Tony snapped, glaring at Rogers. "You, Rogers, are the only recorded success, and I'll grant you that the serum saved Phil's life--" _And mine, probably._ "--but it also produced Schmidt, not to mention the clusterfuck Ross created in mishandling the whole damned thing, so you can damn well be sure I'm going to monitor anyone looking to even _tiptoe_ down that road. Hell, we're currently monitoring a kid out in Queens who got dosed with a pre-radiated variant in a lab accident, and maybe that seems a little heavy-handed to you, but history - _your_ history - has shown us that when anyone messes with the serum, Things Happen, and there had better be a plan or seven in place to help them, or help their victims."

"What happened to the other kid?" Everyone stopped and turned to look at Barton, who blinked, then shrugged. "What? Two and Seven disappeared, and Phil's Ten, but Five got returned to his father, right? What happened?"

"Not much," Tony said, forcing himself to calm down to answer clinically. "He ended up smarter than he otherwise might have, and his reaction time is way above average, but that's all the notes mention observing. He was sent to the same boarding school as Agent Coulson about a year and a half later."

"Um..." Jane spoke up hesitantly, and she was looking at Tony like she might have guessed who "Five" turned out to be which made him feel oddly nervous. "Not to interrupt, but... I mean, you said something about Fury lying earlier?" She looked at Rogers when she said it. Tony stomped on the urge to ask, _"Which time?"_

"He told us that Agent Coulson was dead," Rogers explained. "Showed us--" He broke off, and abruptly Tony remembered just what Fury's "evidence" had been and why he was carrying the portfolio.

"Oh, yeah, almost forgot," He took a sip of his water, then set it down on the coffee table and fished the portfolio out from where it had fallen almost into the seat cushions. Holding it out to Phil, he added, "Here. Fury may have had his reasons for what he did, but he's still a manipulative bastard." Seeing the question in Phil's eyes, he shrugged uncomfortably and picked up his glass again.

"Thank you, Tony," Phil said after a moment, carefully placing the portfolio on his lap. Tony couldn't tell if Phil knew or even just guessed what was in that portfolio, but the gratitude he could hear in Phil's use of his given name told him that he'd made the right decision.

And hey, maybe he'd get to see Rogers blush when Phil asked him to sign them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Bardstown Gold Label is a bourbon produced by [Kentucky Bourbon Distillers, Ltd.](http://www.kentuckybourbonwhiskey.com/home.php)


	15. Chapter 15

**T** HAT COULD HAVE GONE A LOT WORSE, Clint acknowledged to himself as he watched Phil accept the portfolio from Tony. Rogers still looked like he wanted to shake Tony, but was at least restraining himself for the moment. Clint hoped he could intercept the man after the meeting and point him firmly (with or without point-blank incentive) towards Phil's office and the official file on Tony before Rogers stumbled across something he should leave well enough alone.

In the lull before they're brought back to the topic of primary interest, Clint leaned slightly towards Tasha, dropping his voice to speak in quiet tones. "Почему вы не обратите внимание, что нет никакого алкоголя в этом кувшине, прежде чем вы заполнили?"

"Беспечности," Tasha murmured back, her eyes squinting slightly in self-disgust. "Я сделал предположения, когда я должен был проверить сначала и сломал печать, прежде чем я открыл кувшин."

"Это не как вы, Tasha," Clint said, concerned frown morphing into a teasing smirk. "Конечно ни извиняться...."

"If you two are finished?" Phil broke in, his expression as bland as his voice with hints of long-suffering fondness. Tony blinked, looking back and forth between them.

"Wow," the brunet drawled, saluting them with his glass. "I thought the only time he made that face was when he was threatening to taze me. Nice."

"Taze you?" Dr Foster repeated, frowning at Tony, then turned her head to stare at Darcy in resigned horror. "You mean that's hereditary?!"

"What? What'd we miss?" Tony asked, and Clint could swear the man was bouncing in his seat except his water never even sloshed.

"Darcy tazed Thor," Clint spoke up, grinning.

"He was freaking me out!" Darcy defended herself, but her lips were twitching, and she was starting to regain some of her color (though that could have been the tequila). "And to be fair, he'd just been cast out of Asgard and hit by the van, so his going down like a rock might have had extenuating circumstances."

"I am nevertheless duly impressed!" Tony intoned, raising his glass in salute to Darcy this time, which made her grin and Phil hug her around the shoulders where his arm rested.

"That's my girl," he said in satisfaction.

"You're his _daughter_?" Rogers yelped. Clint reached into his back pocket for his wallet and slipped Tasha a five, which disappeared into her clothes somehow even though the pencil skirt and button blouse looked like it had no room for pockets. Phil looked as if he might be praying for patience, and Darcy was frowning in consternation.

"That's not going to be a problem, is it?" she asked. "I mean, you seemed okay with getting your flirt on with me before now, but if it's going to be weird because I'm your handler's daughter and may or may not have a 'Secret of the Ooze' thing going on...."

"What?" Rogers asked, confused, then shook his head. "No, no, it's not... I mean, I thought..." He looked at Tony, plaintively. "You told me he only had a girlfriend who's a cellist!"

"I told you what I heard him tell Pepper," Tony corrected, and Clint had to applaud the man (privately, in his own head) for the ease with which he said Ms Potts's name. Amiable or not, mutual or not, the break-up was still only hours ago if he guessed right. "Since he told _her_ about the cellist, in my hearing range, I figured that was the non-classified information and anything else would come out later."

_At his funeral,_ he didn't say, but Clint heard anyway, and apparently so did Rogers, because he subsided, looking frustrated but at least willing to let it go for now.

"Back to the subject at hand," Phil stressed, giving Darcy a look that Clint mentally translated as, _"We will be talking about you flirting with Captain America."_

"Is this the part where you tell us medical check-ups with the Tower's resident sawbones are mandatory?" Clint asked cheekily.

"Strongly encouraged, not mandatory," Phil corrected mildly. "And only if your SHIELD medical files aren't up to date as of the last altercation you participated in."

"No pressure," Tony added, sipping his water. "Just make an appointment with either me or JARVIS, and I'll keep it quick and relatively painless."

"'Relatively'?" Banner asked, amused, and Tony grinned.

"Shots hurt, no matter who you are."

"Touché."

Clint barely heard them around the sudden roaring in his ears. He'd managed to duck SHIELD medical for years by hacking his own file and entering his stats himself, avoiding getting treatment at all costs unless they brought him in unconscious and then escaping as soon as he was awake and lucid, his file "claiming" an allergy to sedatives.

"Privacy assured?" he heard Tasha asking as if from a distance.

"Complete privacy," Tony responded seriously. "No one but me has to know the results, not even SHIELD."

Clint fought the urge to slump in relief. No one would know. Well, no one but Tony, who probably had guessed already anyway.

"You free later, then?" he asked before he could talk himself out of it. Tony looked at him sharply, focused and concerned, and Clint forced a grin and a wink. Tony narrowed his eyes slightly, then smiled slowly, something gentle hiding behind the open teasing.

"Six good for you, Mr Queen? Work up an appetite before dinner?" he said, and Clint switched his grin to a leer almost as over the top as Tony's own.

"You're on, Mr Wayne," he purred back.

"Green Arrow and Batman, right?" Rogers asked, glancing uncertainly at Darcy.

"Good recall there, Kent," she said with a grin, making Rogers blush.

"Who am I?" Tasha asked interestedly.

"Selina Kyle," Darcy said promptly. "She may have started out as a bad guy, but she works on the side of good when it suits her purposes, and she totally rocks that catsuit of hers."

"Not Batgirl?" Banner asked, blinking as soon as the words left his mouth, as if he couldn't quite believed he'd asked that. Surprisingly, it was Tony who answered.

"Batgirl Version One goes to Darcy, on account of the good Commissioner Gordon, there," he said, gesturing to Phil, who actually looked pleased with his designation. "And I would have pegged Thor for the Superman role given his badass civilian girlfriend." Now it was Jane's turn to blush.

"Then who would Steve be?" Darcy asked.

"Captain Marvel," Tony said flippantly. "Crazy-ass powers, mild-mannered alter-ego, and hey, half the name's right."

"That just leaves Banner," Clint said, doing a mental count. Banner coughed.

"I'm fairly certain I've got the Swamp Thing in the bag," he said, lips twisted in a wry parody of a grin. "Idealistic scientist gets caught up in an accident with experimental chemicals and ends up hunted and feared?"

"Hmmm," Tony frowned, not looking too happy. "Hard to argue with that, especially since I have to cast Rhodey as Nightwing."

"That was the first Robin, right?" Rogers asked. "Dick Grayson?"

"Yep," Tony agreed. "Did a stint as Batman, too, when Wayne was... indisposed."

Tasha tensed next to Clint, and just like that he remembered reading in the official file how Tony had been dying and Colonel Rhodes had taken possession of the Mark II armor. 'War Machine', indeed, going off and letting that incompetent moron Hammer install his weapons in Tony's creation.

"Hey, speaking of that, is that buddy of yours ever going to stop by for a meet'n'greet?" he asked, trying to banish the feelings that recollection conjured up (and he actually had feelings about it, fuck, he was probably in trouble).

"Rhodey?" Tony blinked, tilting his head to one side. "Guess it depends on when he can get away from the Air Force for a week so I can overhaul his armor."

"Weapons?" Phil asked, one eyebrow raised.

"It's Rhodey," Tony said, not even bothering to be defensive. "Like I'm gonna let my best friend go off to war unarmed and unprotected. 'Sides, anything for SHIELD or the Avengers gets funneled through my labs directly instead of through SI, same as the IronTech."

"Thereby keeping to your no weapons policy for the company," Tasha nodded approvingly. Clint was pretty sure she was only saying that out loud for Rogers's and Dr Foster's benefit.

"Why would you stop weapons production..." Rogers started, trailing off as Darcy started making frantic head-shaking motions. Clint could feel a scowl trying to find room on his face despite his attempts to keep his expression mission-neutral (and shit, that was telling enough to Phil, Darcy and Tasha), but Tony's expression had become almost _glacial_.

"You know what, Phil? Get Rogers into your office ASAP so he can read my damned file before any _other_ triggers get tripped," he said, amiable voice tone completely at odds with his expression. "We done, or was there anything else?"

"No, that was it for now," Phil said, nodding. It probably wasn't, Clint knew, but Phil wasn't the best handler in SHIELD for nothing.

"Great. I'll be in the lab,"

Clint watched as Tony returned his tumbler to the bar and retreated to the elevator, watched until the doors slid closed behind the man, then turned to stare pointedly at Rogers, who was looking stricken.

"I... I didn't mean to..." he stammered, flinching when he caught Clint's eyes on him.

"I'll bring you the first tenth of the file tomorrow morning," Phil said resignedly. "For the time being, avoid mentioning Stark Industries weapons, Afghanistan, or anything about Howard Stark. At all."

Rogers paled a little, but nodded. Clint looked away when he felt Tasha touch his hand. The redhead flicked her glance in the direction of the elevator, eyes hesitant. He nodded imperceptibly, turning his hand beneath hers to squeeze her fingertips gently, then stood.

"Guess that's my cue to go present myself for that 'completely voluntary' medical exam," he drawled, standing. "See you all at dinner."

Recalling certain aspects of the blueprints he'd gotten his hands on, Clint took his and Darcy's tumblers to the bar and slid behind the heavy barrier. Dropping behind the bar, out of sight of the others, he opened the left-hand cabinet, then the trap door in the floor, and slid himself down into the crawlspace to head for the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Почему вы не обратите внимание, что нет никакого алкоголя в этом кувшине, прежде чем вы заполнили?" - "Why did you not notice that there is no alcohol in the jug before you filled it?"
> 
> "Беспечности. Я сделал предположения, когда я должен был проверить сначала и сломал печать, прежде чем я открыл кувшин." - "Carelessness. I made the assumption when I should have checked first, and broke the seal before I opened the jug."
> 
> "Это не как вы, Tasha. Конечно ни извиняться." - That isn't like you, Tasha. Of course, neither is apologizing..."
> 
> Again, the above translations come through Bing Translator, as I neither speak nor read Russian. Anyone with greater insight into the language is welcome to correct me.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a cold that will not die, which started not long before I wrote this chapter, and so I spent the several hours prior to working on it reading [Dark Matter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/555598) by Imogen_Pen to reboot my brain because it totally has Clint and Darcy being siblingesque bros, which helped me get in the right headspace for writing this universe. Also, seriously, awesome fic.

**F** IVE SECONDS AFTER THE ELEVATOR STARTED MOVING, Tony hit the emergency stop and slid down the wall of the car to sit on the carpet, arms on his raised knees, head bowed, and made himself breathe deeply and evenly like Bruce was always doing when he got frustrated with their lack of progress. Perhaps not so surprisingly, it worked, and he felt himself calming, the urge to punch something receding slowly but surely until he could take a deep breath and let it out slowly without forcing it.

It was not Rogers' fault. It wasn't. He hadn't read the real file on Tony, and Tony _knew_ that, so he couldn't just expect Rogers to know not to ask about things that, from his reference point, would be worth questioning. After all, he had ample evidence in weeks of news reports to back up the assertion that _no one_ who didn't already know the "how" and "why" of it would understand why Howard Stark's son would take his legacy of advanced weaponry and flush it down the toilet, and SHIELD had been very good about covering up or hiding a lot of the "why" even though he'd blown the lid partially off the "how".

_Thank you, Christine,_ Tony thought sardonically, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "JARVIS," he said tiredly. "Resume elevator motion and send an email through secure lines to Christine Everhart of 'Vanity Fair' inviting her to the Tower for an exclusive interview with the Avengers in two weeks."

"Is that wise, Sir?" JARVIS asked. The elevator started moving, clarifying what he was asking. Tony smirked.

"Probably not," he admitted. "But I kind of owe her this one for not running the story of my palladium poisoning even after I got better, and two weeks might be long enough to talk most of the team into at least showing up."

"If you say so, Sir," was JARVIS's response, and Tony pretended not to hear the dubious tone as he climbed to his feet and straightened his shirt. The doors to the private lab level slid open and Tony turned to head for his lab and... paused. The glass was once more transparent, allowing him to see inside to the figure calmly sitting on one of the work benches, one foot up on the bench and hands loosely clasped at the upraised knee, a very calculated posture of unthreatening relaxation.

...Well. Either Barton had left the "meeting" directly after Tony had, or Tony had been in that elevator fighting a rage fit slash panic attack for longer than he'd realized. He forced himself forward and made himself smile as the doors slid open to admit him. The smile and the joke about Barton longing for his company driving him to be early for a check-up died as the other man looked up at his entrance. Tony's steps faltered to stop and they stared at each other, silent. Barton looked... tired, resigned, _knowing_ , and he could tell the archer was seeing the same thing in his own expression.

"You're Five," Barton said at last, breaking the silence. It wasn't a question. Tony waited, tense, but the expected wave of panic, of dread at having it stated so baldly never came. He gave it several seconds, then several more. Nothing. Huh.

"Were you Two or Seven?" he asked after a moment, not denying the assertion. Barton's lips twitched, the echo of a half-smile hovering there behind the solemn acknowledgement between them.

"Two," he said. "Seven was my brother."

_'Was.'_ Shit.

"How long ago--"

"Six years. I killed him."

" _Shit_."

"...Yeah."

Tony sank down onto the work bench opposite Barton, at a loss for something to say. He wasn't as socially awkward as some people liked to believe, he just didn't see the point in a lot of the mindless formalities people clung to for lack of anything genuine or important to say, but he kind of wished he'd paid more attention now. Well, except for the part where there was probably no real _good_ way to say... what, _"Sorry you killed your brother, I can relate, I had to kill the man who was more of a father than my actual father was."_ Yeah, no way could he say that even if it was true, because he didn't know if that was ever going to stop hurting, like--

_...shrapnel to the chest..._

One more parallel...

Suddenly, he snorted. Barton looked at him like he wanted to be angry but could tell there was something else behind his inappropriate laughter, so Tony obliged him. "Shit, I'm a math _super_ genius and, fuck, _what are the odds_?" he asked, waving a hand between them and then up towards the upper levels where (presumably) Rogers and Romanova and Bruce and Phil and Darcy were all still present and accounted for.

"Scary," Barton said after a moment, then added, "Phil found and swayed the Winter Soldier."

"The Universe is fucking with us," Tony declared as he let that sink into his brain, mentally reviewing everything he'd ever hacked about the Winter Soldier, aka 'Yasha', aka James Buch-- " _Fuck_. Charbroiled fuck and a half on gods damned toast with shit marmalade," he breathed, eyes wide. Barton raised an eyebrow.

"Creative," he drawled. Tony smirked. 

"Thank you," he said. His mirth, such as it was, faded after a moment as his ever-working mind offered up the full implications of what he'd been told. "The Double Rs don't know or the Tower wouldn't still be standing."

"We figured it'd be safest to tell you and Drs Banner and Foster separately so you'd have time to clear the blast radius," Barton said, and Tony gave in to the urge to shove his hands back through his hair and groaned lowly.

"Maybe Rhodey'll let me crash on his couch for a couple of days," he muttered.

To his credit, Barton didn't suggest he was over-reacting. "Malibu would probably be easier."

"Not quite as secure, despite JARVIS's best efforts," Tony said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Rhodey will bitch and complain, but when Rogers comes hunting me to find out how long I knew about this and didn't tell him, he won't care if it's Captain Rogers, Captain America, or the President of the United States."

"Rhodes is your Tasha," Barton said quietly. Tony looked up sharply to find him nodding thoughtfully. Catching Tony watching him, he shrugged one shoulder, eyes flinching very slightly around the corners at the movement. "Phil's our Pepper."

"Kindred spirits if ever there were," Tony murmured absently, his mind already switching gears as he looked, really looked at Barton, and he hadn't had the time yet to look at anyone's medical files except Phil's and Rogers's, but he could remember Barton falling through a window twelve floors down from where he'd launched three weeks ago... "JARVIS, medical lock down, access Stark-Alpha-one-one-three, and draw the curtains."

"Should I be worried?" Barton joked, though he was looking a little wary as the glass around the lab went opaque again.

"I'll keep the groping to a minimum," Tony said, the teasing coming out just a little too flat. Barton was looking at him narrowly again; he ignored it. "What's your usual rate of healing, how long has your back been hurting, and did you even get glanced at by SHIELD medical before you made your escape?"

"Factor of three proportional to the damage, since I went through a plate glass window and had to get back up again immediately, and I nicked my usual horse pills from them," Barton rattled off. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Great. Right, we can do this the traditional way or the space-age way, but either one involves stripping," he said, not even the hint of a smile. Doctor Stark was in the lab, ladies and gentlemen. "How's your mobility and range of motion?"

"Awkward," Barton admitted reluctantly. "Up to crawling through the vents, but I can't really draw my bow without at least a muscle spasm or six."

"And that's the real reason you're being so cooperative, huh?" Tony said knowingly. Barton grinned a little, unrepentant.

"You already know my biggest secret," he said, sitting up and reaching for the hem of his shirt. He paused abruptly, eying Tony with mock wariness. "Just how 'stripped' do I need to be for this?"

Tony couldn't resist. He cackled.


	17. Chapter 17

**J** ANE FOSTER WAS, she insisted, a woman of science. Facts, testable hypotheses, data... all of that, she could take in stride. Darcy had encouraged her to look beyond the immutable, and while Erik had frequently scoffed at the "wild theories" their young intern could come up with, Jane would occasionally find herself drawn into debate with Darcy over the applications of esoteric belief to scientific process. Jane had actually lost as many of those debates as she'd won, once or twice only gaining victory because Darcy didn't have the necessary scientific background to frame her arguments with.

Now more than ever, Jane was glad she'd let Darcy challenge her to accept the validity of non-scientific explanations. Darcy had been very good about not saying "I told you so" when their 'crazy homeless guy' had turned out to be the _actual_ god of thunder from Norse myth and, following her lead, Jane had refrained from saying it to Erik.

It was Darcy, actually, who had reminded her that a great many legends had a basis in fact, all the while showing her a picture in that children's book of Norse folktales of a grim-faced man clad in golden armor standing at the gates to a rainbow bridge. Knowing what she now knew about her former intern turned Vital Research Assistant (as stated to those too self-important SHIELD flunkies who wanted the "non-essential security leak" packed off away from everything with a gag order the size of the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary) Jane had to wonder if it had been pure altruism for her to suggest _praying to Heimdall_ , but not once had the other woman made fun of her for lighting candles in the privacy of their trailer.

Just as she was about to do now.

The altar was small, a re-purposed medicine chest with two small stands for the equally small white candles Darcy had presented to her, painstakingly engraved with the runes for Heimdall's name and set on either side of a hand-painted rainbow split by an elaborate gate. Darcy's work, again, given that the rainbow bridge and gate looked suspiciously like adaptions of Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" album cover, but whatever. Everything Jane's cousin Anita had ever said about praying to the Old Gods boiled down to "intent is everything" and "never make a bargain with a stronger power you aren't prepared to fulfill".

Of all her surviving family, Anita was probably the only who wouldn't flip out over Jane a) praying to a Norse god, and b) dating another one.

Smiling slightly to herself, Jane settled down crosslegged in front of the open altar and closed her eyes. Back straight, hands relaxed and resting palms up in her lap, she breathed in slowly, held it, and then breathed out, letting the breath carry away the tension in her neck and shoulders. Another breath in, held, and she released the tension in her upper back. Another breath, and the tension in her lower back dissolved. She repeated the breaths two more times, focusing her mind and thoughts, before opening her eyes. A quick strike of a match lit first the left-hand candle, then the right, and she blew out the match before lifting her hands to hold them cupped before her.

"Great Heimdall, Guardian of the Gates of Asgard, I beseech thee, turn thine eyes to Midgard and hear," she began, fighting the urge to fidget as she always did whenever inviting someone to watch her, especially someone she couldn't see. Dragging her focus back, she took a deep breath and began her report.

"The Son of Coul lives," she said, figuring it best to start there. "It turns out he was given a treatment similar to what Captain Rogers went through and that helped keep him alive long enough to be... healed." Her lips twisted slightly over the terminology, but better to keep things simple rather than go into technical details that might be viewed as archaic by her listener.

"Darcy is apparently his daughter," she went on. "She wants me to ask you to tell Thor she's sorry for not telling him, but under the circumstances it was better to keep it quiet even more than usual. Her Dad has enemies he wants to protect her from, so she uses her mother's surname."

Jane paused, frowning slightly. This was the tricky part. "I think I might be close to a breakthrough on recreating the Ei... er, _Bifrost_ down here, thanks to the data Tony - Mr Stark - provided on that portal the Tesseract created. Testing is scheduled for two weeks, after we've run the numbers and double-checked the equations. Trajectory's still tricky, since I know Thor told me there are more, ah, 'Realms' out there than just Asgard, so if Thor could turn on the StarkPhone he got from Tony before he left last time, that would help us home in on your Realm instead of one of the less hospitable ones.

"I..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip for a moment, then continued. "I don't know if he's allowed visitors wherever you're keeping him, but... I'd like for Loki to know I forgive him the wrongs done to my family, and I bear him no ill will. Darcy might want to taze him before she forgives him for nearly killing her father and mind-controlling her adoptive brother, but she doesn't hold grudges. I can't speak for anyone else, of course, but, well... Thor always spoke fondly of Loki when he was here, so he can't be truly evil, right? I mean, he's the God of Mischief. Straight out violence doesn't seem like his style, so there must have been more going on than anyone down here except maybe Clint knows... well, maybe not, but Clint's really observant. Anyway, I just... if he's hurting, I hope he gets the help he needs.

"May the Light of the Realm Eternal shine upon you," she concluded, folding her hands together and touching her forehead before gently blowing out first the right hand candle, then the left. She closed her eyes and lowered her hands to her lap again, breathing slowly and evenly until she felt that her invisible watcher had turned his attention elsewhere.

With her eyes closed, she couldn't see the shadow behind the grate in the ceiling shift soundlessly away.


	18. Chapter 18

**T** RUE TO HIS PROMISE, Agent Coulson had a stack of thick folders brought over from SHIELD HQ and delivered to Steve's room in the Tower at seven in the morning the following day. The agent who delivered them - a sallow, sour-faced woman who didn't offer her name - handed him two locked metal boxes and brusquely informed him that if he didn't know the combination he was to ask Agent Coulson. Feeling a little put out and a lot bemused, Steve had hauled the boxes into the living room of his suite, only to find that someone had apparently been and gone, leaving a yellow post-it on his coffee table.

It seemed Barton had anticipated his initial problem and left him several sets of numbers that Steve guessed were the combinations to what was probably more than just the two boxes he had hold of. Steve wasn't sure how he felt about the other man having access to his apartment like that, even if he could agree with the strategic advantage JARVIS had explained to him after that first night Barton had dropped from the ceiling and Mr Stark had taken it completely in stride. He'd thought it was a future thing at first before JARVIS had explained the design of emergency relocation pathways in the event of the elevators and stairwells becoming compromised if the Tower came under attack. The AI had not said "again", but Steve had heard it and agreed that unconventional emergency exits were probably a good idea.

Deciding to put it out of his mind for now, Steve sat down on the couch and, consulting the post-it, tried the first set of numbers on the lock of the box marked with the earliest date range. The box opened and Steve hesitated only a moment before carefully lifting out the file folder on top of the stack and opened it to begin reading.

Two hours later, he'd moved to the gym and was very methodically attempting to beat apart one of the reinforced punching bags that had been provided. Punch, punch, right-cross, jab, jab, jabjabjab, he didn't even know whose face he was picturing in place of the smooth black rubber, Howard Stark's or his own.

"It's not going to break," a voice said from behind him, and his next punch skidded off the bag and sent him crashing into it. He gasped, chest heaving, and clung to the bag to stay upright as he looked around to see Agent Coulson sitting on one of the benches near the free weights. The man offered him a faintly apologetic smile.

"How did... why didn't he... _why_?" Steve gasped out, chest twisting up like it hadn't since the serum had cured his asthma. Coulson didn't sigh or slump, but something in his expression saddened.

"Tony will never speak ill of his father if he can help it," the man said carefully. "He's too used to the media watching his every move and recording his every word. Sometimes he seems fine, other times it's like waving a red flag in front of a bull, particularly if he's being compared to Howard." A pause, then very quietly. "Or you."

"Me?" Steve asked, stunned almost breathless again. Slowly he hauled himself upright and stumbled over to the bench, worn out and shaky, and slumped down next to Coulson. "I don't... but, I wasn't even there!"

"But Howard was," Coulson said quietly. "He remembered you, held you up as the great American hero. The scientists may have regarded you as the golden standard for the serum, but to Howard you were the golden standard for Man."

Steve winced, looking down. He could picture it only too well, in the same way he had been repeatedly compared unfavorably to Bucky for so much of their lives, only he hadn't been there to defend Tony the way Bucky had always defended him.

"Did it ever get better?" he asked lowly, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer, but desperately hoping that Howard had honestly appreciated his clearly genius son for who he was and not what he wasn't.

"A little, once Tony was at boarding school," Coulson said, and Steve closed his eyes in pain. "I don't know all the details, of course, but the file indicates it was... easier, when they weren't face to face."

Steve lowered his head, guilt gnawing at him along with the lingering anger. "I don't... he was my _friend_ ," he said helplessly. "How could I have missed..."

"You weren't there," Coulson said simply. "It's not something you could help, and you couldn't have noticed what began after your 'death'."

"That doesn't really help," Steve muttered, then winced and shot the other man an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, that was... unfair." He grimaced. "Seems to be a theme with me lately."

"No one is asking you to just pretend you're okay," Coulson said after a moment. "Well, no one in the inner circle. We're all familiar with battle shock in one form or another."

"I'm starting to understand that," Steve said ruefully. "Damn it... he won't even let me apologize for what I said on the helicarrier, how am I supposed to...?"

"Give it time," Coulson said gently. "Unless I miss my guess, letting you read his uncensored file is _his_ way of apologizing for what he said to _you_."

_"You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."_

"...Was he... the five year old?" Steve looked up, half-fearing the answer. "You said the five year old was taken away by his father..."

"Howard was livid to discover his son had somehow ended up in a test group he hadn't even approved," Coulson said evenly. "The details of that incident are in the second file box."

"Do you think he hates me?" Steve asked, hunching a bit more. He almost started right off the bench when a cool dry hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked over and up into Coulson's half-smile.

"I think he's a lot more forgiving than most people give him credit for," he said carefully. When Steve looked at him questioningly, Coulson shrugged slightly. "He may have scratched off the gold leaf, but the embossing on that portfolio he gave me reads 'Property of A. E. Stark'."

"Really?" Steve blurted out, startled. Coulson chuckled.

"All forty-two trading cards, still mint condition," he said, nodding his head toward the bench. Steve followed the gesture and blinked, noticing the portfolio for the first time, resting open on the first set of clear-plastic sleeves holding six 2.5 x 4 inch cards numbered one to six, each with some variation of Steve's own face staring up at them. A fleck of gold on black caught Steve's eye and he looked at the inside of the cover. There were still a few specks of gold leaf, as if it had been scraped off in a hurry on impulse, but he could make out the shadows of the letters.

_Property of A. E. Stark_  
 _presented by H. J. Stark_  
 _16 November, 1969_

Steve swallowed, so many different feelings chasing themselves through him, struck hard that not only had Tony kept what he now realized must have been an emotionally conflicting present (had Howard really given Tony these on his birthday the same year as the experiment?!), but had also given them without prompting or planning, to Coulson.

He wondered if he'd ever really understand his one-time friend's son the way he wanted to.

Glancing up at Coulson, then down at the portfolio, Steve cleared his throat, caught a little between embarrassment and shyness. "Well," he said awkwardly, shifting a little as he moved to untape his hands to free his fingers. "Got a pen?"

The shy, beaming smile his question got from the other man was completely worth the embarrassment.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny thing... I accidentally titled this something slightly different than what I originally titled it over in the kink meme. Still the same story, just a slight rearrangement of the title words. ^_^;;;;

**I** T WAS TEN AFTER ELEVEN IN THE MORNING WHEN NATASHA, long since awake and dressed with her Natalie Rushman guise wrapped around her like a cloak, finally managed to get back to the Tower. She and Pepper had taken breakfast together that morning to go over Stark's schedule for the next week since "Natalie" was being publicly transferred from being Pepper's PA to official liaison between Stark Industries and the Avengers, also known as becoming _Stark's_ PA. Natasha had a sneaking suspicion that the man was quite capable of organizing his own damned schedule, but his disdain for most of the Board of Directors (specifically those left over from Stane's inner circle who enjoyed being obstructionists) was an open secret, and Pepper had freely admitted that she could use the help making sure Stark made at least two meetings with them per month.

From there, they had gone to the SI New York headquarters - which was, astonishingly, _not_ in Stark Tower - and Natasha had spent the remainder of her morning interviewing potential replacements for Natalie's position as Pepper's PA. It was a fairly menial use of her observation talents, but she had managed to weed out three corporate wannabe spies, two military plants, and one candidate had taken one look at her, blanched, and beat a hasty retreat with a mumbled, "Sorry for the intrusion, Agent Romanoff." Natasha's smile was perfectly bland right up until the door closed and she had the privacy to fire off a text message to Fury telling him to keep the World Security Council's double agents the hell away from Pepper Potts.

_"This would all go much more smoothly if we could get Miss Lewis to take the position,"_ Pepper had complained good-naturedly some time after ten o'clock and no decision pending.

_"Even if you could get Dr Foster and Agent Coulson to agree, your boyfriend is paying her too well to stay where she is,"_ Natasha had remarked.

_"Former,"_ Pepper had corrected, a quick, strained smile flashing across her face. _"Mr Stark and I came to the mutual conclusion to end the romantic nature of our relationship yesterday afternoon."_

_"I see,"_ Natasha had murmured, feeling something uneasy twist in her gut. It felt annoyingly like what Clint once described as _guilt_. _"That would explain the alcohol he ended up not drinking."_ Something pained flashed across Pepper's face and Natasha had hastened to add, _"I think it was meant to be a formality rather than a lapse."_

_"I wonder what it says about me that I'm flattered he'd think our break-up warranted alcohol,"_ Pepper had joked weakly, and then excused herself back into her office while Natasha pretended to be focused on the files for the last three candidates. Mutual it may have been, but Natasha was willing to bet neither of them was really happy that it had come to that.

Now, with all of the prospective candidates so far interviewed and summarily dismissed as 'not what we're looking for at this time,' Natasha wanted nothing more than to kick off those five-inch stiletto heels, peel her way out of her pencil skirt and blouse, and drop into a bath tub filled with water hot enough to turn her pale skin pink in less than two seconds. Ruefully, she acknowledged to herself that while most of that was achievable, there were no bathtubs to be found in the tower. Supposedly there would eventually be an Olympic-size swimming pool and hot tub on the floor below Banner (and Coulson, now), but the construction wasn't finished yet.

It would just figure that she would reach the door to her room and find an official SHIELD memo taped to her door reminding her in the politest of terms to get her ass to medical for the mandatory exam she had been ducking for the last two months.

"Ебать!" Natasha growled, ripping the memo off the door. She was about to crumple it when she noticed Phil's familiar neat script reminding her that the Tower had a qualified medical doctor in residence and she needn't terrorize SHIELD medical staff so long as her records were updated appropriately.

Well, why not? She owed Stark a free shot for the mistake with the alcohol on top of that botched assessment. Her pride might be hurting, but she could at least give him credit for being the better operative. This time.

"JARVIS?" she said as she opened the door to her room. "I need to make an appointment with Dr Stark for a mandatory health examination."

"Of course, Agent Romanova," came the prompt and polite response, and Natasha blinked. Up until now, JARVIS had been polite to the point of clipped when speaking with her. By contrast, the AI sounded almost _warm_. "Will that be a standard examination or more specialized?"

"Gynecological," she said evenly. There was a pause, then her StarkPhone started vibrating against her. She retrieved it and pressed "Accept" below Stark's half-asleep post-shawarma image. "Romanova."

_"You're trolling me, aren't you,"_ Stark said suspiciously. _"Did Barton put you up to this? He's laughing enough for it."_ Natasha heard Clint's muffled protest in the background and raised an eyebrow, putting that tidbit of information aside to consider later.

"I received an official SHIELD memo this morning 'reminding' me of my two months past due appointment with medical," she said dryly. "I decided I'd rather take my chances with you than _them_."

_"...Fine,"_ he said at length. _"Two o'clock? That'll give me time to pull your medical file so I know how many gaps we'll need to go over."_

"What makes you think there are gaps?" she asked, genuinely curious. She heard him snort.

_"Please, Romanova,"_ he said drolly. _"You're a former Russian assassin who went through questionably moral medical and chemical procedures at a young age at the direction of unscrupulous people and then ended up with SHIELD. There are gaps."_

"Fair enough," Natasha conceded. "Two o'clock is fine. Your lab?"

_"This time,"_ Stark grumbled, but Natasha could tell he was putting up a front. Interesting. He seemed to have decided he could trust her, to a point. She wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Tell Clint I'll meet him for our usual spar at four," she said instead, unbuttoning her blouse.

_"Tell him yourself,"_ Stark snarked back. _"He left just after you picked up."_ And the aggravating man hung up, leaving Natasha standing with an open blouse in the middle of her living room, phone still at her ear and looking up at the ceiling grate that was already sliding open.

"Okay, so maybe I'm trolling him a little," she admitted, lowering the phone as Clint dropped down into the room.

"SHIELD really send you a memo?" Clint asked, smirking. Natasha held up the slightly crumpled paper.

"Phil left a note on it," she said. "Think he wants Stark to look at my blood for serum traces?"

"I don't think it would surprise him if there are traces," Clint said. Natasha looked at him; she knew he knew she'd noticed he hadn't specified which 'him', Phil or Stark.

"...How was your appointment?" she asked at length. Clint shrugged, then demonstrably rolled both shoulders smoothly.

"Class reunion was first," he said and Natasha stilled, searching his face. Well.

"What're the odds?" she asked at length, lips tugging upwards into a reluctant smile. Clint laughed outright at that.

"Incalculable," he sniggered. "Thank fuck Thor's an alien, that's all I'm saying!"

"That _would_ be pushing believability," Natasha agreed, though privately she wondered. There was a lot she'd once thought would be pushing believability, and it had been surpassed. She suppressed the urge to rap her knuckles on the ornate coffee table, then smacked Clint on the shoulder on principle.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, shooting her a wounded look. "What was that for?!"

"I refuse to be superstitious," she said calmly. Then, because she knew he might still have healing injuries and her strength wasn't exactly normal human woman levels, she added, "Stark fixed your back, then?"

"Mostly," Clint said at length, incredulity warring with concern in his eyes. "You did great with getting all the glass out of me, but I probably shouldn't have waited to shower afterwards. I'm on antibiotics to fight the lingering infection and an appointment for a massage therapy regime starting in a week."

"You're being surprisingly compliant," she said, studying him. Clint twitched, just slightly. So he had a reason. She waited.

"...I'm not a science experiment to him," he said at length, carefully. "And I don't have to worry that he'll turn me into one, because we're in the same boat."

"Mutual respect through blackmail?" she asked. It was, after all, how the two of them had started working together.

"Something like that," he said, nodding. "Point is, I'm pretty sure I can trust him not to betray me."

_And so can you._

She pretended not to hear the unspoken reassurance, and he pretended to believe her. "Lunch?"

"Please," she said, then looked down at herself and scowled. "Let me change first."

"Go ahead, I'll wait," Clint said with a leer that put Natasha in mind of Stark, as did the way he laughed as she flipped him off on her way to her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ебать!" - "Fuck!"
> 
> Yeah, face it, that didn't take much to translate.


	20. Chapter 20

**T** ASHA HAD WANDERED OFF TO CHANGE INTO SOMETHING SHE DEEMED "appropriate" for her medical appointment, Darcy and Phil had grabbed Rogers for a "cultural field trip", and Banner (should he be thinking of him as "Bruce" now, since they were part of a club? Nah, he'd wait for permission, same as with everyone else) had disappeared into the area on his floor jokingly called the "Hulk Playroom", so Clint figured it would be best to give him some space for now and drag him out if he didn't emerge by dinner time.

This left Clint curiously at loose ends. He couldn't go bother Tony, because he knew the man was reviewing Tasha's medical records. Tasha had indicated she didn't care if he was there for her appointment, but Clint had a sneaking suspicion she had some ideas about what the appointment would involve and, well, he hadn't told her just what all had happened with _his_ appointment.

Or rather, what _hadn't_ happened.

Clint huffed and shifted, leaning back against the wall of his room and letting his fingers move through the motions of checking and rechecking his bow as he reflected on his first voluntarily attended medical appointment. Despite the man's cackling, Tony hadn't actually made him strip down completely. There'd been a screen and a set of drawstring pants and a robe to change into for the initial scans in something that had looked a little like a Borg recharging berth. (Tony had denied any similarity with such an obviously shifty look that Clint had messed up the first set of scans from laughing so hard.)

_"Laugh it up, Barton, it's not that funny."_

_"It's hilarious, Stark, and you know it. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your secret Trekkie tendencies."_

_"...What happened to calling me 'Tony', hm?"_

_"...Try calling me 'Clint' and see what happens."_

Clint sighed and let his head drop back against the wall, eyes staring up at the ceiling blankly. This was why he didn't like being at loose ends: it left him too much time to think about things that could probably stand to not be thought about. It was a simple exchange, teasing for teasing, nothing more.

Except he couldn't stop thinking about the way Tony had looked when he'd asked that, his expression just coming out of "disgruntled" and heading towards "jocular" by way of " _vulnerable_ ", dark eyes shrouded and uncertain above a mouth twisting up into a devil-may-care smirk... the way his eyes widened slightly and his shoulders tensed when Clint had suggested calling him by his own first name... the way that tension had seeped away when Tony had turned back to the control pad for the scanning bed, dark hair falling forward towards his eyes....

Clint groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. He couldn't have focused on the way Tony's pupils had dilated when he'd had to take off the robe for the doctor to lance and clean the remaining infected cuts on his back, an easy bit of arousal he could have preened about, joked about with the man, and dismissed. Nope, Clint just had to have been paying attention when the slightly older man had looked _real_.

Not that he hadn't gone ahead and made the joke anyway.

_"See something you like, there, doc?"_

_"I admit nothing!"_

_"Too soon?"_

_"...Something like that."_

Clint could honestly tie himself up in knots over that one if he let himself. The lack of an expected witty response had prompted him (too flippantly, he knew) to ask, but he hadn't expected the way Tony's shoulders had hunched slightly, the way he'd tried to play off his reaction as "professionalism" during the rest of the appointment at odds with the way he'd briefly looked braced, tense and hunted in a way Clint noticed on Bruce sometimes, like he was gearing himself up to take a hi--

...Oh. _Oh._

Well, shit. _Some brilliantly observant analyst I am,_ Clint thought, tilting his head down and scowling at the floor. He'd thought at the time that Tony's reaction had been because his break-up with Potts was so fresh, and maybe that was part of it, but not everything. In retrospect, he could even deduce why he hadn't recognized it at the time or even later that night.

Not that he wanted to think about that right now, either.

The question was, now that he knew (or thought he knew), what was he supposed to _do_ about it? The obvious answer - nothing - would work in short term while Tony regained his equilibrium from his split with Potts, but after? Did he even _want_ to do anything about it?

That made him pause, one hand on the back of his neck mid-rub, eyes focused on the carpet between his boots. How did he feel about this, really? It was completely out of left field, to be honest. Sure, he'd pretty much told Tasha that Tony could be trusted with their secrets, but considering the man himself shared Clint's biggest secret that wasn't a stretch. And sure, he defended Tony against Rogers, but the temporally displaced man _had_ been kind of a dick even if he didn't realize it. And bonding over shared experiences, even if they were different in the details, well, that was normal team shit, right? It had nothing to do with the way Tony's face lit up when he laughed, really laughed, all bright and pure and....

... _Shit_.

"JARVIS?" Clint said, not looking up from the floor. "On a scale of Mother Teresa to Fanny Hill, how fucked am I for maybe possibly having a gigantic crush on Tony?"

"Given Sir's track record since returning from Afghanistan, I believe you would fall somewhere in the middle, Agent Barton," the AI intoned, sounding somehow both amused and smug without actually sounding like either. Clint snorted.

"Thanks, J, you're a big help," he drawled.

"I live to serve, Sir,"


	21. Chapter 21

**H** E WAS EXPECTING HER, so there was absolutely no reason why Tony should have been startled by JARVIS's sudden announcement that Agent Romanova was waiting outside the lab. Checking the clock, Tony noticed that it was exactly two o'clock, and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"Let her in, JARVIS," he said, setting down the tablet he'd been reading from and turning to stand as the doors slid open. "Right on time, Agent Romanova," he greeted her, taking care to keep his voice polite and in the range of "friendly" rather than "flirty" on the warmth scale.

"I strive to be punctual when I can," she replied, her eyes flickering around the room she'd - until now - not been permitted access to. Her eyes came to rest on the upright scanner bed with the terrycloth robe and drawstring pants folded in front of it (a dark burgundy for her, whereas Bar-- Clint's had been closer to plum) and raised an eyebrow. "No stirrups?"

Tony fought down the urge to twitch. "Well, we _could_ do this the traditional way, if you prefer," he said carefully, trying not to sound or look as disturbed as he felt. "However, I thought it would be more comfortable for you--" _And my sanity..._ "--to go with the least invasive exam methods."

"Рыцарское из вас," Romanova grumbled under her breath, looking at the scanner bed and folded robes again.

"Самосохранения," Tony fired back, earning him a sudden, sharp look. He'd surprised her, then. This was becoming a habit, and he had a feeling she didn't like being surprised by him. With a rather self-deprecating smile, he added, "Мне нужна моей команде, чтобы защитить мою спину вместо того, чтобы положить ножи в нем."

"...Fair enough," Romanova said at length, reaching for the folded clothing. Taking his cue, Tony deliberately turned his back to her, making sure he couldn't see her reflection anywhere from their current respective positions and, as an added show of trust, closed his eyes.

"JARVIS, initiate medical lockdown, authorization Stark-Alpha-one-one-three," he said, more to keep his ears from focusing too hard on the rustle and thump of cloth behind him or the whisper of terrycloth on skin that followed. _Patient. Teammate. Clint's partner and BFF._

"You're being quite a bit more reserved than... Mr Hogan was that one time," Romanova said from behind him. _'More than I expected you to be,'_ Tony heard, and pressed his lips together, counting backwards from six thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five in Fibonacci leaps, in Macedonian, before answering.

"It's not impossible to remain professional around a beautiful woman, just very, very difficult," he said at length, neutrally. There was a pause from behind him.

"You think I'm beautiful?" Romanova said softly. The tone was light, almost gentle, and it sent every single nerve in Tony's body _screaming_ at him. He clenched his hands at his side and refused to turn around or open his eyes. She had to be testing him, goading him, perhaps, to resume that open flirtation he'd used as a shield (pun not intended) against the beautiful and unfamiliar "Natalie Rushman from Legal" who'd first been sent to spy on him.

"JARVIS, please recite for Agent Romanova the protocols for unfamiliar female employees of Stark Industries attempting closer association with Anthony Stark," he said in a clipped voice.

"Certainly, Sir," JARVIS replied, equally formal. "Female employees of Stark Industries unfamiliar to Anthony Stark or Virginia Potts are to be monitored and presented with a minor ethical dilemma. Should the employee respond negatively, up to and including the filing of a sexual harassment suit, an apology and appropriate compensation will be rendered to the employee and the matter dropped. Should the employee respond favourably, attempting to engage in activities of a sexual nature with Anthony Stark, Virginia Potts is to be notified immediately and the employee's contract terminated. Should neither of these outcomes occur, the employee is to be continuously monitored by Virginia Potts or Anthony Stark personally with restricted access to any and all Stark Industries projects and records. Inception date for this protocol is listed the seventeenth of May, nineteen-eighty-five."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Tony said. He waited.

"...So I should have claimed sexual harassment to keep my cover intact?" Romanova said after a moment, and Tony felt his shoulders relax minutely at the return of the more clinical, distant voice tone.

"It would have lasted longer that way," Tony conceded. "Not once you tried getting closer again, because the ones who claim sexual harassment usually _don't_."

"So you treat every female employee that way?" Romanova asked and, yep, there went his hackles again.

"The ones Pepper or I don't hire personally after extensive background checks, yes," he said flatly. "You aren't the first 'honey pot' someone's sent after me, and as I'm sure you've noticed recently with those interviews you've been overseeing, you won't be the last."

"Not the best way to go about making friends," Romanova said after a moment. There was an odd note in her voice, unfamiliar, but not one that set off his mental alarms.

"...I have JARVIS, Pepper, and Rhodey," Tony said. "Phil and Darcy are getting there. Maybe the team, if we can keep from tearing each other to shreds."

"I see," Romanova said, quietly. It was funny, but Tony could have sworn she sounded... _sad_. "You can turn around now. I'm dressed."

Tony opened his eyes and carefully unclenched his fists, reaching for his tablet before actually turning around. The robe was wrapped modestly but snugly against her body and belted in place, and the burgundy fabric set off her flame-red hair and pale skin. He didn't linger, gesturing for her to step up into the alcove of the scanner, and after a brief hesitation she stepped into it and turned to face him.

"Non-invasive?" she said, and Tony allowed a brief, reassuring smile.

"Unless you're sensitive to isonuclear micropulse fields, you won't even notice it," he said, tapping a command into his tablet to start the scan. "Stay upright and relaxed now..."

"How long does this take?" Romanova asked. Tony fought a frown, noticing that her fingers were twitching slightly.

"Provided the scanner isn't disrupted, only about a minute and twenty-five seconds," he said absently. He watched her closely now, noticing how her muscles seemed to tense and jump in odd intervals, forming a pattern he recognized... shit, she _was_ sensitive to the field. "Deep, even breaths, just forty-seven seconds to go... I'm guessing you didn't know you'd be sensitive to isonuclear micropulses like this. Sorry about that, maybe if I'd explained more about what that is... hmmm... okay, done, you can step down now."

Romanova was out of the scanner bed almost before he'd stopped speaking, though to give her credit she only looked slightly pinched around the eyes and she didn't cower away from either the scanner or Tony himself. He cleared his throat, and her eyes snapped to his face.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," he reminded her, calm and professional. From the incredulous look on her face, he wondered if she was going to start yelling at him, but a moment later she seemed to settle, still searching his expression.

"...Next time, we do this the traditional way," she said at length.

"Next time, Agent Romanova, I'll use a biometric x-ray," he replied. Surprisingly, she smiled at him, small but real.

"Call me Natasha, целитель механик," she said. "We're supposed to be teammates, after all."

"Just keep in mind that tact is my dump stat," he said absently, distracted by the beep of his tablet. "Results are in. You want the good news or the ambivalent news first?"

"Ambivalent?" she repeated, frowning. Tony shifted so she could see the tablet screen.

"Not sure if it's good or bad, really, but the compound the Red Room used on you is only tangentally related to the Project Rebirth formula," He highlighted the relevant scan notation, bringing up the comparison of the chemical bonds and indicated the differences. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it was derived from a variation on an older version of the formula, but stripping out about forty percent of the polymorphic properties and the neurocellular augmentation."

"Layman's terms?" Roma--Natasha asked, just a bit dry. Tony fought a smirk.

"It stopped three-quarters of the way through the physical enhancements and left your brain alone," he said. "Probably because the part that enhanced mental acuity and resilience would have torn apart the compounds that--"

"Made me easily suggestible to my handlers," Natasha broke in, frowning. "That might explain a few things...." She trailed off and shook her head, and Tony wisely didn't ask her to explain, because he had a feeling he knew already what 'few things' she was talking about. "What about the good news."

"The good news," Tony said, clearing the chemical compound breakdown and bringing up the main results again, "is that you're completely healthy and well above normal physical levels for a woman of twenty-five."

"Ебать," she swore quietly. Tony didn't disagree. It was only "good" until one remembered that, according to her file, 'Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow' was born in 1960.

"Welcome to the team, старшая сестра," he found himself saying flippantly, and winced internally. To his surprise, she snorted softly.

"Tact really is your dump stat," she said, glancing at him sideways. He shrugged in agreement, mouth twisting in an almost smile that tended more towards apologetic grimace. Natasha sighed softly, quietly, and Tony didn't move away when she nudged her shoulder gingerly against his.

Five out of six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Рыцарское из вас." - "Chivalrous of you."
> 
> "Самосохранения." - "Self-preservation."
> 
> "Мне нужна моей команде, чтобы защитить мою спину вместо того, чтобы положить ножи в нем." - "I need my team to protect my back instead of putting knives in it."
> 
> целитель механик - healer mechanic (The closest I could get to "cleric artificer"; Natasha means it as a compliment, albeit a geeky one.)
> 
> "Ебать." - "Fuck." (Again.)
> 
> старшая сестра - older sister
> 
> Translations run through Bing, I don't speak or read Russian, et cetera, et cetera. ~does speak/read Latin~
> 
> The last line, "five out of six", refers to all five of the human members of the current Avengers team line-up being serum-enhanced in some way via some formula. Obviously [redacted for spoilers], but he's just counting the active team there.


	22. Chapter 22

**W** HEN SHE WAS A LITTLE GIRL, before the Red Room had bought her from her debt-riddled father, Natalia Romanova had been bitten by a karakurt spider while playing under a bridge. She had cried from the pain, alerting the other children, and one of them had run to fetch her mother. The pain had faded by the time the woman arrived and directed Natalia's friends to hold her still while she held a match to the bite to kill the poison, but it had already spread into Natalia's small body and she was sick for days, her father barely able to afford food and unable to pay the hospital to make Natalia better. She'd recovered eventually, but the memory of the pain lingered in her limbs.

Sitting on her bed in her Tower apartment, Natasha stared down at the tablet that held the proof that not all of the spider venom had left her before the Red Room began its work on her using the compounds developed from Yasha's blood. Her sensitivity to "isonuclear micropulse fields" - very tiny vibrations fired off at intervals to act as a bat sonar on an atomic level - could probably be traced to the changed structure of the hairs on her arms and legs and the back of her neck, not a large change but enough to make them sensitive to unusual energy waves. Natasha smiled reluctantly, wryly; as uncomfortable as that had been, SHIELD had never been able to get anything close to such a detailed analysis of her altered genetics. If it had been anyone else, that would have terrified her, but Stark... Tony... Well, she trusted Clint, and Clint said Tony could be trusted, too.

Hm, speaking of...

"Come in, Clint," she said to the still-closed door. The door opened to reveal a faintly smiling Clint.

"No matter how many times you use that 'spider sense' of yours, it's always awesome," he said fondly. Glancing at the tablet she held, he added carefully, "Appointment go alright?"

"Mm," Natasha murmured, holding the tablet out to Clint without hesitation. "Apparently 'spider sense' isn't just hyperbolic."

"What, you mean you're _actually_ a black widow?" Clint said, eyebrows raised. He took the tablet from her, frowning slightly as he looked over the details on the screen. "Tasha..."

"You thought I was sixteen when we first met," she reminded him quietly. Slowly, he sat beside her on the bed, shoulders barely touching. "I know he said the serum effects people differently, but it's not even the same formula, and--"

"Details, Tasha," Clint broke in gently. "The root's the same, маленькая сестра."

"Старшая сестра," she said, smiling weakly. "Sta-- _Tony_ called me that."

"You two worked things out, then?" Clint asked. The tells were there - hopeful, cautious, awkwardly held neutrality - and it made Natasha's smile firm, turning mischievous.

"It seems that playing hard to get in response to Tony's flirting earns an unfamiliar girl his _suspicion_ rather than his interest," she said.

"Not a standard response, admittedly," Clint said after a moment, carefully. "Were you supposed to call him on it and act offended?"

"Apparently so," she said, affecting a pout and smirking when Clint rolled his eyes at her. They were silent together for a moment before Clint shifted, lifting the tablet slightly.

"Are you going to tell Rogers?" he asked quietly. Natasha hesitated, looking sideways at Clint.

"Are you?" she asked softly. Clint pressed his lips together, eyes dark, but shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't know yet," he said at length. "We'll see how he handles Tony's official uncensored file first."

"...Why didn't I know about that file?" she asked, posing the question that had been bothering her ever since she'd first learned about the existence of it after writing the assessment. "So many missteps..."

"Who knows what goes through Fury's head most days?" Clint said, brows furrowed. "The man plays high stakes deals even when he doesn't hold all the cards and his moves don't always make sense to the other players."

"Sounds like someone else we know," Natasha teased mildly, thinking back to Tony's gamble on Banner's returning to help them. To her surprise, Clint stiffened, eyes flashing briefly in a mix of anger and pain and _loss_ before the expression disappeared and he hung his head.

"Tasha?" he said faintly. "I need you to hit me again. Hard."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up straight in alarm.

"...Because I just compared Fury to Loki and realized I forgive both of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The karakurt spider](http://rbth.ru/articles/2011/04/26/the_twelve_most_dangerous_russian_animals_12694.html) is black, white, and yellow with a very nasty venom that causes acute pain at the moment of the bite which passes quickly, but after anywhere from fifteen minutes to six hours it spreads through the bitten limb to the body, chest, and abdomen.
> 
> маленькая сестра - little sister
> 
> старшая сестра - older sister
> 
> I apologize for my clumsiness with the translations that are getting more and more frequent, and beg that someone who speaks/reads Russian please put me out of your misery.
> 
> It is also worth mentioning that, though Clint said he forgives Loki, forgiving the motives or intentions is not the same as forgiving the person, the methods, or the collateral damage caused by those methods.


	23. Chapter 23

**T** ONY WAS OF THE OPINION THAT, barring certain subjects, any kind of personal introspection that would have most people reaching for the bottle to self-medicate during said introspection was to be avoided unless he was completely alone (except JARVIS, of course) and all implements of a potentially self-destructive nature were well out of reach. He'd kept to that rule after the first time he'd gotten drunk - the night he learned of his parents' deaths - and Rhodey had come back to their shared dorm to find Tony holding a broken shard of glass and drunkenly trying to shave off all his hair despite unsteady hands and tear-and-alcohol-blurred eyes. The man had more than proved himself a friend that night, and Tony had taken care never to repeat the experience until that disastrous birthday party.

He couldn't avoid introspection forever, obviously, so his routine of locking himself in a "clean" room for a few hours with JARVIS monitoring him while he thought through the potentially distressing shit in his head once a week had become standard practice. The palladium poisoning had derailed that routine, and then there'd been too much else going on - his sudden relationship with Pepper, the construction of Stark Tower, SHIELD dragging him out to be part of a team he'd been half-way rejected for - got in the way. If he'd had his way, Tony might have kept putting it off, just gone down to help Greg and the rest of the construction crew with the Tower renovations as per usual, but everyone knew how to find him there since Rogers went looking for him and right now he _needed_ to be alone.

"JARVIS, are there any messages or notices for me?" he asked, keying in the password to the designated "clean" room.

"None that require immediate attention, Sir," JARVIS replied.

"Good," Tony said, rubbing his eyes and stepping through the doorway. "Introspective Hell Lockdown, please. I don't want to be interrupted unless the world is ending."

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS responded. There was a pause. "Shall I inform Colonel Rhodes or Agent Barton of your intentions, Sir?" Tony froze, swallowing hard.

"Only if they ask," he forced out, and hit the button to seal the room.

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS said as the doors slid closed again, the ambient blue light of the reactor bouncing off the polished white of the walls as silence fell.

Tony sank down into a seated position in the middle of the floor, then stretched out until he was lying flat on his back and looking up at the ceiling. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out..._ He slowly forced the muscles in his body to relax and stopped directing his thoughts, letting them come as they would.

The first thing that popped into his head was the design for duraflex body armour to be incorporated into the uniforms of Clint, Natasha, and Rogers. Healing factors aside, they could all do with a bit of insurance against _needing_ that healing factor. He wondered if he should be trying to incorporate that into the "Hulk Pants" before dismissing the idea since the duraflex would allow for _movement_ , but not _expansion_. They were still working on how to keep the pants from breaking apart when stressed through the transformation....

Darcy and Phil should have armour, too, he thought idly. Phil, obviously, was likely to be in the thick of things whether he was even allowed to be or not. It was in the man's nature, Tony had noticed, to protect those he cared for with an almost wolfish ferocity. He'd noticed that even in "PJ" when they were children, which was why he'd clung to the older boy when the scientists had swept him up and herded him in with the others....

Clint had said his older brother Barney had been the seven-year-old. Tony had done some careful research (or hacking) into "Barney Barton" and had not liked what he found. The man had sold out his brother, not just once but multiple times, culminating in the FBI collaboration with SHIELD where Barney had nearly gotten over a dozen agents and two hundred and seventy civilians killed, only to be taken out by Clint himself. The knowledge made Tony regret his harsh words about "help them or help their victims", except that from the way Clint had looked at him when he'd said it Tony could tell the other man agreed with him and he didn't know how to feel about that....

He didn't know how to feel about a lot of things pertaining to Clint Francis Barton, he realized. It seemed that every time he turned around, there was another similarity, another parallel between Tony's experiences and Clint's. From the spotlights under the Big Top to the flashing cameras of press conferences and paparazzi, a circus was a circus, and they'd both had to form their masks early to hide that they, both of them, had once been considered little more than failed science experiments...

Even their combat training, with Clint in the Marines and Tony being trained in self-defense and weapons use (first by ex-British Royal Army sergeant Edwin Jarvis and later by others, including Rhodey). A mission gone wrong and leading to capture and interrogation lined up uncomfortably close to Tony's experiences in Afghanistan. Clint reached out to Natasha; Tony reached out to Bruce. Clint hands him something and Tony just takes it without thinking....

He didn't like being handed things anymore, an issue begun with Stane's betrayal and exacerbated by the palladium poisoning screwing with his brain and compromising his immune system. Thank fuck for his _own_ healing factor, limited good that it was, or he probably would have died from the "meatball surgery" in that cave alone, never mind being killed that much more quickly by the rising toxicity of his blood, so many symptoms of the poisoning appearing only to be healed over in a matter of days just in time for the next symptoms to show up, and all the while Pepper was angry and distracted and some strange redhead had been invading his space and spying on him....

Natasha had been trying to apologize for her judgments of him, he knew. It wasn't easy, since beyond being on the same team, living in the Tower, and a tacit acknowledgement of a similar experience with being a "lab rat", they had very little in common that he knew of. Reading her file was like reading an actor's filmography list, one role segueing into another, with very little to indicate a person underneath those assumed identities. It made him angry and sad, angry that even with that background Natasha hadn't realized that he wore more than one mask, sad that it had so obviously been necessary for her survival to hide (destroy?) herself so often....

Rogers had backed off on trying to talk with Tony ever since the "family meeting" when Tony had stormed out after telling him flatly to read his damned file already. Part of Tony was, incomprehensibly, a little hurt that the man had stopped seeking him out, but it was a small part. Too much of Tony could understand why, from the way the man must need to process and work through the information in the file versus the memories he had and assumptions he'd made. Tony himself had spent several of his "clean room" days just processing through his own memories compared to information he'd come across later, realigning the child's recollections with his more adult perspectives and understandings of things his younger self hadn't been aware of. It was still touchy sometimes, and Rogers was unfortunately one of his triggers....

_"Captain America was the greatest success of Project Rebirth, and that is what you all should aspire to."_

_"Steve Rogers was the best man I have ever had the honor of knowing and working with."_

_"Erskin told me himself that the serum brought what was inside a person to the outside, and a skinny kid from Brooklyn had more guts and a greater heart than any other under consideration."_

_"You're not Captain America and you never will be!"_

_"You are my greatest creation, Tony..."_

_"I know men with none of that who're worth ten of you!"_

_"Cap'll think what he likes until someone proves him wrong."_

Tony came back to himself slowly to find himself curled up on his side, his face wet and eyes aching, chest tight and heaving as he struggled to breathe. His body felt weak and shaky, like he'd gone twelve rounds in the ring with Happy, something he hadn't been able to do since the palladium had taken hold. He should really get back in practice sparring without the suit. Maybe he could use the old "training exercise" standby to push through a week's visit to the Tower for Rhodey; the two of them hadn't had a decent spar since before the return of the Stark Expo.

With a low groan, he levered himself up to a seated position, then moved to his hands and knees and carefully got to his feet. Internal check told him he was shaky, a bit dehydrated, and he needed to eat something ASAP, but he hadn't pulled any muscles and his limbs didn't have the telltale pinch of healing bone fractures. That had been a mild one, then.

The passcode to open the "clean room" took two tries for his hands to enter correctly from shaking, but the door finally slid open to show the interior of his closet. Moving through the closet and into his bedroom, he paused at the door to look out of the windows at the brightly-lit cityscape beneath the dark blue night sky. "JARVIS, what time is it?"

"The time is nine forty-three in the evening, Sir," JARVIS informed him. Damn, he'd missed dinner. "Agent Barton requested I inform you that he left a plate of pizza casserole and garlic bread in the penthouse refrigerator for you, and that you are to eat as much of it as you can before you retire for the night."

"It'll go straight to my hips," Tony joked weakly, something warm curling in his belly from behind the gnawing hunger.

"Shall I tell him that for you, Sir?"

"Funny, JARVIS, very funny,"

"I try, Sir,"

Tony rubbed the back of his neck and considered. He needed to eat. He needed a _shower_. The bed was tempting, too...

_Food first, then shower, then bed,_ Tony thought, turning away from the bed and the bathroom door to head out to the kitchen. After all, if Clint was going to go through the trouble to cook for him and leave the food in his refrigerator, the least he could do was eat it before he was too tired to properly appreciate it.

Absently, he wondered if Clint would be interested in sparring with him when his back healed up.


	24. Chapter 24

**A** GENT BARTON? Sir has emerged from his isolation,"

Clint didn't jump or start at the unexpected voice, hadn't since the first time JARVIS spoke to him when he'd snuck into the Tower under cover of night before the reconstruction of the penthouse was even completed and had been "greeted" by a dry British voice informing him that he could have entered through the front door. He didn't obsess over it, part of him far too used to being watched all the time, but he never forgot that JARVIS was _there_ , everywhere, though more benevolent than many of Clint's former watchers had ever been.

"How is he?" he asked, setting aside the casserole dish he'd only just finished drying, his kitchenette once more spotless from unhurried, methodical cleaning.

"Sir appears to be more settled now than when he went in," JARVIS said after a moment, no doubt having been factoring what could be said in answer to Clint's query versus what would be a betrayal of Tony's privacy and confidence. "Sir would also like to express his gratitude for the dinner plate, though he regretfully does not expect to be capable of finishing all of it."

"That's fine, just want to make sure he's got something in his stomach besides coffee remnants before he passes out," Clint said, lips quirking slightly. He paused. "He _is_ going to sleep after eating, right, J?"

"I believe Sir currently plans to eat, indulge in a shower, and then seek his bed for the night," JARVIS replied. Clint let out a breath in a half sigh and nodded.

"Let's hope his nightmares don't bother him tonight," he murmured, then shook himself a little. "Thanks, JARVIS, I appreciate the update."

"You are quite welcome, Sir," came the polite response, and the AI fell silent once more.

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face and considered his options. It was too early to go to bed himself, even if he was tired enough to. His body still thrummed with energy, even when his mind pleaded for rest, and he wondered absently if this was how Tony felt all the time when he couldn't go build something or lock himself in that "isolation room" JARVIS had mentioned.

His back wasn't yet healed enough to kill time on the shooting range, unless he wanted to swap his bow for the more conventional (if far less comfortable) firearms available for target practice or "home defense". The idea had merit, but he always felt awkward practicing with bullets. Unless they shattered on impact, his arrows could always be reused with combat-ready heads if needed, but once a bullet was fired, if it wasn't fired at a legitimate target, it felt... wasted. He knew Tony could afford it - had, in fact, paid out of pocket to stock the weapons and ammunition that he didn't make for the team himself - but Clint didn't want to take advantage of the man; the free room and board was already above and beyond to his perceptions

He could always patrol the crawlspaces again, he supposed, but he already did that on a varied schedule, and doing it too often would probably land with him falling asleep in those crawlspaces the way he had those first couple of days after he'd arrived but before "his" suite had been ready for him. As far as he knew, JARVIS hadn't told Tony just how long Clint had been there, but it wouldn't surprise Clint at this point if Tony hadn't had to be told at all.

Without going to bother one of the others, that pretty much just left the roof.

Clint made a face - for being summer in New York, it was unseasonably cold right now, and the roof was windy to boot - but grabbed a jacket and headed for the elevator, shrugging into it and flipping up the hood as he pressed the button for the roof. Despite the bad memories associated with it (and the scrape marks and burns from where the portal device was set up there) Clint liked it, high up enough with just enough "wall" to provide a good illusion of privacy despite being out in the open. The city was too bright, too awash in lights for any but the brightest of stars and the occasional planet or orbiting satellite to be visible, he knew, but that just made it more fun to try and pick out where the stars _should_ be, testing his recall from many sleepless nights in Puento Antiguo when he and Darcy would take over Dr Foster's lawn chairs and stare up into the vast blackness liberally sprinkled with bursts of light while discussing theoretically classified mission details like the old friends they were.

The doors to the elevator slid open and he stepped out onto the roof... and paused, eyes sharpening. Someone had apparently beaten him there, stretched out on one of the lawn chairs and so bundled up that, at first glance, Clint couldn't tell who it was. The spill of dark hair made him think at first that it was Darcy, but then the person shifted and turned her head to look towards the elevator and Clint saw it was Dr Foster.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said after a moment, not sure of what else to say to break the ice. His dealings with the astrophysicist had been cordial but professional, aside from the one time she'd gotten it into her head that he was trying to _date_ Darcy and had proceeded to give him the most simultaneously awkward and terrifying "shovel talk" he'd had up to that point. Explaining that dating Darcy would have been like dating his sister (if he'd _had_ a biological sister) had made things even more awkward, since it had pulled her further out of her "science mode" so that she noticed her friend and intern was on more familiar terms with the "jack-booted thugs" than Darcy had admitted to.

"It's fine," Dr Foster said quietly, offering an awkward smile. "I think I'm the one intruding, actually..."

"Not at all," Clint disagreed. He eyed her carefully, gauging her expression and likely mood and reactions, then stepped forward and slid onto the other lawn chair, though he stayed upright. "Familiar surroundings, I guess?"

"A bit, yeah," Dr Foster admitted, looking away and turning her eyes up towards the sky. Clint looked up as well, sharp eyes peering automatically through the gradient inky black, dark blue, and even darker purple to find pinpoints of light. Abruptly, Dr Foster said, "I always remember that night on the roof, when I think of him."

"Thor?" Clint prompted, when it seemed she needed the response. She nodded.

"He drew me a diagram of Yggdrasil," she said quietly. "It was... he acted like he didn't know much about it, but what he was talking about was so far beyond what was known here on Earth about the way space and time worked, all twisted around each other into _pathways_ that lead up and down and backwards and sideways... It's not even other dimensions, or other planets, it's other _planes of existence_."

"Sounds daunting," Clint offered, trying not to look or sound as uncomfortable as he felt. This was touching very close to Things Not To Think About, things he knew he shouldn't know about things he sometimes wished he'd never laid eyes on. Dr Foster laughed a little, short and strained.

"'Daunting'," she repeated, giggling. "Yeah, I suppose that's a good word for it. I just... the Bifrost is so much more advanced than anything we have here, and even that portal device Erik built was so advanced... sometimes I wonder what I think I'm doing, trying to create something like that." She looked sideways at him and smiled weakly. "I mean, it's not like I'd be allowed to publish anything about it, no matter what my contract with Stark Industries says, right?"

"Not necessarily," Clint said. He kept his eyes turned up at the sky so he could pretend he didn't notice the way she jerked and stared at him. "I mean, I'm no expert or anything, but you aren't just trying to recreate portal pathways to other Realms, right? You're working to understand how they were created in the first place and explain it in terms us mere mortals can understand. After the _very public_ showdown in the middle of the city a month ago, that's something people will want to read."

"But SHIELD--" she started.

"Can't cover up something like a blatant alien invasion attempt like that," he said placidly. "And they - at least Fury, Hill, and Coulson - know better than to try."

"Really?" He looked at her, and she blushed slightly. "Well, after the reams of paperwork Agent Coulson made us sign after everything back in New Mexico..."

"Phil is crazy-prepared for just about anything," Clint said, amused. "And he doesn't like certain people trying to stick their frequently incompetent noses into the work of dedicated and competent professionals. How'd he put it? 'A pigeon doesn't tell an osprey how to fish, so why should we let politicians tell our agents how to do their jobs?'"

"I like that," Dr Foster said, smiling faintly. Clint returned the smile, though not as easily as he found smiling at Tony to be lately.

"Don't worry so much about the tests," he said. "If there are any problems with the coding, you'll find them and fix them."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, biting her lower lip, and Clint had to stop and remind himself that, besides being a brilliant astrophysicist and a genius on top of that, she was also someone who was missing the person she loved and wanted to see him again.

With that in mind, he said, "Same way I can be sure I'll hit a target I aim for: experience and belief." Shifting slightly to face her a bit more, he added, "Darcy believes in you. So does Phil. Tony is actively helping you, which means _he's_ convinced, and that means JARVIS is on board. And if it doesn't work the first time, you'll still be getting data to help 'recalibrate' and try again, right?"

"Right..." Dr Foster said unsteadily, then more firmly. "Right." She sat up slowly, wincing a little (how long had she been out here before he came up?) and looked at him. "Thank you. I... think I needed to hear that."

"Anytime," Clint returned. "And hey, I've seen enough weirdness lately that I wouldn't discount a first attempt success."

"Thanks," she chuckled. "I should probably head back inside... no storms tonight and too much light to see the stars."

"Get some sleep, huh?" he said, nodding. "I have it on JARVIS authority that even Tony's turning in before midnight tonight."

"Is the apocalypse coming?" Dr Foster joked, but she stood and stretched.

"Does it work?" Clint blurted out. She looked at him sharply and he fought against shifting. "The praying, I mean. Do you ever get an answer?"

"...Darcy told you?" Dr Foster guessed, eying him uncertainly. Well, that was probably safer than admitting he'd seen her praying while on patrol in the crawlspaces, so he nodded. She relaxed slightly and shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, I don't get any answer, but I always feel like someone's watching and hearing me, and it feels less silly than shouting up at the sky like... well."

"Like Thor?" Clint said teasingly, though gently. She laughed a little and nodded. "To be fair, he was legitimately expecting an answer, even if none of us believed him at the time."

"Yeah..." Dr Foster looked down for a moment, eyes shadowed. Before Clint could work out the best way to apologize for bringing down the mood, she shook herself and looked up. "Well, if you ever want to try it, my cousin's been telling me for years that belief and intent are more important than symbols and ceremonies."

Her cousin... Clint thought for a moment, recalling Dr Foster's file to mind, before deciding she probably meant Anita Redfeather. Rather than mention that - he'd seen how Dr Foster could be about people knowing _everything_ without being told first - he merely nodded. "Practical advice." Apologetically, he added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you, Dr Foster."

"Jane," the woman said firmly. "Thor thinks of you as a 'shieldbrother', Agent Barton, so that makes you a friend. Call me Jane."

"Call me Clint, then," he returned. "Good night, Jane."

"Good night, Clint," she said with a smile.

He watched her leave, only turning his head when the elevator doors slide closed again, then stretched out on his lawn chair and stared up at the sky.

"Heimdall?" he said after a moment. "Dunno if you're listening, or how you feel about playing messenger like this, but if you are and you don't mind.... Well, I don't know if it counts for much, but aside from the whole mind control and turning me against my friends thing, Loki wasn't that bad of a guy to work for. Not saying I forgive him yet, but I know he could have been much worse if he'd wanted to. So, if he ever decides to show up on... Midgard... as an ally instead of an enemy, and Tony forgives him for the whole defenestration thing, I'll refrain from shooting exploding arrows at his head."

Feeling just a little silly, but resolving not to think about it, he tossed off a vague sort of salute and the sky, then settled back to watch the few stars that could be seen until it was time for patrol.


	25. Chapter 25

**T** HINGS SHIFTED FROM THERE, mostly, into a comfortable sort of holding pattern. Tony would work in his lab most times, except when Jane dragged him down to _her_ lab to double-check the equipment and targeting calculations. Bruce dropped in every now and then to hand off his completed coursework and get the next batch; the man was moving through the standard course load almost as fast as Tony himself had, which meant he'd have to arrange a residency rotation at one of the secure hospitals he consulted at. Clint dropped in (literally) around lunch time to either bring Tony food or drag him out of the lab to eat, sometimes with Natasha, but most times just the two of them. Phil showed up for his regular check-ups, but otherwise kept to his apartment or the gym. Darcy flitted back and forth between the labs and the gym, checking and refreshing the coffee supply and prodding Rogers to get out of the gym more and do his "cultural integration homework".

Rogers, so far, was still avoiding him, except when he couldn't. During team dinners and Thursday's movie, he kept watching Tony with wounded eyes and an uncertain expression. It made Tony more than a little uncomfortable, but he had been the one to tell Rogers to read his file, so he'd have to suck it up and deal with whatever weird guilt trip the man was putting himself through.

Christine had emailed him back asking to push the interview forward, to which he'd responded that they weren't expecting their sixth member back from his Realm any earlier than when he'd said. They'd argued a bit, the back and forth of email so rapid they could have been texting each other if not for both of them refusing to give the other their number, and finally settled on one week after the scheduled test of Jane's "Midgardian Bifrost" with an initial interview of a more technical nature with him and Dr Banner discussing the unclassified parts of serum research and why it was so closely monitored "by SHIELD". He'd copy'd Fury onto that email, and had received back, not a cease and desist, but a well-presented and polite official statement from SHIELD on the subject. Tony had read _that_ as "cat's out of the bag, time to make sure the world knows we're the good guys", and made sure Christine had a copy of the statement.

"Good news, everyone!" he greeted the occupants of the kitchen on Tuesday morning. Watching Darcy, Clint, _and_ Natasha simultaneously duck for cover was almost as amusing as the confused looks on Bruce and Rogers's faces.

"It's a reference to a television show called 'Futurama'," Jane explained, rolling her eyes. "Whenever one of the characters, Professor Farnesworth, comes in saying that, it usually means something bad."

"Then why doesn't he just say 'bad news'?" Rogers asked, puzzled.

"So the other characters don't run away before he explains," Clint drawled, eying Tony with mock-terror. "What new form of torture is in store for us now?"

"Everybody but Bruce is off the hook," Tony said, then added wickedly, "For now~!"

"Dare I ask?" Bruce asked with a weary sigh.

"Good old _informative_ publicity," Tony said. "And before you ask, yes, Fury's signed off on it, Phil."

"Everhart?" Phil asked dryly.

"I see you've checked your email today," Tony returned, smirking. To the others, he said, "She's coming by the Tower tomorrow afternoon to interview the knowledgeable members of Team Science about the unclassified portions of the Super Soldier serum research, why it's dangerous, why it's controlled and monitored, et cetera. You may all watch the proceedings or make yourselves scarce as you see fit. Personally, I recommend watching."

"Why?" Jane asked, puzzled.

"To give us an idea of her interview style so we can prepare for the team interview Miss Everhart will no doubt be doing as a follow up," Natasha said, sipping her coffee. Tony raised an eyebrow at her, and she lifted one shoulder slightly before nodding. So "Natalie Rushman" would be attending the first interview, then.

"I've sent a rough outline of the questions she expects to ask to your inboxes so you can all look them other and make suggestions or indicate what you do or do not want to talk about," Tony went on, heading for the coffee pot.

"I've got a question," Clint said, mouth pulled into a smirk, but eyes strangely intent. "Why is _Vanity Fair_ running a piece on heavily classified hard science?"

"The thrust of the article is about showing those effected by the serum as people rather than just experiments," Phil began. Tony, eyes on Clint, interrupted.

"I owe her," he said seriously. "I gave her the story of my eminent death, and she kindly didn't run it when I survived, so I owe her."

"And it won't hurt to build up some good publicity for us as a team to offset past and future property damage," Natasha added, surprising not just Tony.

"Future?" Rogers repeated, looking torn between disapproving and concerned.

"Let's not kid ourselves, Captain," Phil said, sighing. "Loki may have been the most _dramatic_ threat worthy of the Avengers, but he wasn't the first, nor is he likely to be the last."

"And any fight you put the Other Guy into will involve property damage," Bruce added, sheepish but matter of fact about the reality of that statement.

"Which is why it's a good idea to get the public used to the idea of all of us, as a group and individually, being the good guys and real people," Tony put in. "That way, people like Senator Stern and General Ross can't try to swoop in and get us locked up or take our toys away."

Rogers frowned and looked like he wanted to say something. Tony braced himself, but to his surprise Rogers glanced at Clint, then at Phil, and subsided, staring at his mostly empty plate with a pensive expression.

...Huh.

"Well!" Darcy said after a moment, placing her hands on the table and pushing away as she stood. "That sounds like my cue to check _my_ email again. Steve, ten o'clock?"

"I'll be there," Rogers said with a weak smile in her direction. Darcy was apparently expecting the low-key response and only nodded, stepping around the table to deposit her plate in the sink and drop a kiss on Clint's cheek.

"Thanks for the waffles, bro," she said and sauntered out.

"...Are you sure she isn't Tony's daughter?" Jane asked, staring after her intern-turned-assistant.

"Positive," Tony said, blinking when he heard the echo coming from Phil, Clint, and Natasha.

"Still good for this afternoon, doc?" Clint asked. Bruce and Jane looked up, but Tony was the one he was looking at.

"Ready when you are," he said easily, smirking, "Though I bet you were ready for this a week ago."

"I admit nothing," Clint teased, and Tony couldn't help but laugh on his way out of the kitchen and back to the lab.


	26. Chapter 26

**W** HEN CLINT ARRIVED AT TONY'S LAB AT A QUARTER TO THREE, JARVIS let him in to an empty workshop with no Tony in evidence. A cursory check of the surrounding work surfaces - not enough to be an invasion of privacy, just a visual scan of various papers, tools, and other detritus - turned up a couple of rough, hand-drawn schematics of what looked like the interior of a hand and arm, something that looked like a chemical formula interspersed with something else that looked like computer code, and a half-empty coffee mug with the contents gone cold. Checking the nearest clock, Clint dumped the coffee in the workshop's sink and started another pot of coffee brewing while he washed out the cup and settled in to wait.

Forty-seven seconds after the coffee finished dripping into the decanter (not that Clint was counting) Tony wandered into the lab, looking entirely focused on the tablet he held. Taking a moment to analyze the frown on Tony's face, Clint decided that it was pensive rather than frustrated or angry, and risked taking the tablet out of his hands to replace it with a fresh cup of coffee.

"You're early," Tony said, blinking up at Clint before looking down at the mug in his hands. Clint watched him regard it uncertainly, sniff it, and then take a careful sip.

"You skipped lunch," Clint said by way of an explanation. Something akin to comprehension lit Tony's eyes and he took a deeper swallow of the coffee while gesturing to the tablet. Taking that as permission, Clint looked down... and blinked.

It was the same schematic he'd seen in paper form earlier, but more detailed and with three-dimensional rotation. With a glance at Tony for permission, Clint flicked the schematic over to the holographic work station the way he'd seen Tony and sometimes Bruce do, and stared as the air above the table lit up with a detailed rendering of what was most definitely a robotic arm from fingertips to shoulder and even bits that looked like they'd be wired in past the shoulder.

A hand extended past his arm to the image, making a twisting motion that caused the whole thing to open up, showing Clint the inner workings, the gears and hydraulics, wires and circuits and cables that laid out beneath the intricately connected plating, branching out and in and reaching up to the shoulder, passing into and out of-- "Is that--?"

"One of the miniature arc reactors, yeah," Tony confirmed quietly. "Easier to work in there than the glorified battery pack the Soviets came up with."

Clint found himself grinning and didn't bother to hide the expression, eyes scanning the model, looking over the points where weapons had clearly been added - or at least pockets where weapons could go at a later date - and found himself leaning closer to look at the components of the hand and wrist. "Need to tweak the rotation here, and in the base of the fingers. He's a sniper, and if he's anything like us--" Clint's mouth twisted slightly and he resolutely didn't look in Tony's direction, but he shouldered on. "--then his normal range of motion's going to be more extensive than expected."

"How far?" Tony asked mildly. Clint shot him a quick look, but his expression was curious and interested, not offended.

"You took scans of his flesh arm, right?" Clint asked. When Tony nodded, he said, "He's left-hand dominant from all reports, so probably base normal plus twenty percent." He watched as Tony's hand made the corrections, nodding as the schematic shifted and settled, then collapsed back into itself to show the whole arm as it was meant to look.

"Color scheme's still up in the air," Tony said, and Clint got the feeling that he was talking more to JARVIS than him now. "The original red star's gotta go, he agrees there, but what to put in its place..."

"I'm surprised you did not suggest red and gold, Sir," JARVIS remarked, and Clint smirked at the dry tone. Tony pouted.

"Just because _I_ like it doesn't mean everyone does," he grumbled. "Besides, wasn't he a scout before the brain scrambling happened?" Abruptly he froze, not quite flinching. Clint swallowed and forced himself to speak lightly.

"Maybe dark blue with a white star on the shoulder instead of red?" he said. "The star could be hidden by a shirtsleeve for stealth when needed, and it's not so drastic..."

"Clint--" Tony started, his voice strained. He stopped short when Clint turned to face him, all the apologies and self-recriminations he couldn't quite voice there for Clint to read in his eyes. Moving carefully so as not to startle him, Clint reached up and laid a hand gently on Tony's shoulder.

"It's fine, Tony," he said softly, staring into the other man's eyes in an attempt to convey what he was thinking, feeling, the way he understood Tony hadn't meant to be cruel, how he'd expected something like this and, since it was Tony saying it, he didn't really mind, because he knew the man would never deliberately hurt him. He knew from the slight widening of Tony's eyes and the slow expansion of his pupils that the brunet had picked up on the unspoken message, and the shoulder under Clint's hand shook with Tony's exhale.

"JARVIS, about how long after a break-up is it considered acceptable to admit to interest in and attraction to a person other than the other party of the previous relationship?" Tony asked, still looking up into Clint's eyes.

"Under the circumstances, Sir," JARVIS began, but Clint didn't wait to hear the result, leaning in and brushing his lips carefully against Tony's slightly parted ones, light and questioning.

Tony made a low, keening sound in the back of his throat and pressed in closer, not quite close enough to touch anywhere but where their lips met, but close enough to deepen the kiss into something that slid from "chaste inquiry" into "yes please" territory, a tilt of the head interlocking their lips together with the faint hint of teeth and tongue hovering in wait, and it wasn't quite the hottest kiss Clint had ever participated in, but none of the others had sent this kind of electrically charged _fire_ lancing through his body.

A sharp beep, followed by JARVIS's bland tones relaying, "Medical lockdown engaged, Sir," made them separate, both breathing more heavily than they had been. Clint wondered if his own expression was anywhere near as raw and open as Tony's was in that moment before he swallowed hard. Clint licked his lips and offered Tony a wry sort of smile.

"Where do you want me, doc?" he asked. Tony smirked briefly, which had been the intent, and gestured towards the "thing that was not a Borg recharge berth".

"Assume the position," he drawled. His hands flicked through the arm schematic, saving and closing it, and he picked up the tablet to, Clint guessed, bring up Clint's medical records.

"Can't wait to get your hands on me, huh?" Clint asked cheekily, reaching for the familiar purple terrycloth. To his surprise, Tony shot him an honestly smouldering look over the top of the tablet, heat and hunger just barely banked by something soft and tender.

"You have _no_ idea, Eros," he all but purred.

Clint had a feeling he could guess.


	27. Chapter 27

**W** EDNESDAY MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT, clear-skied and breezy. Inside the Tower, the arrival of Christine Everhart was anticipated with a tense mixture of annoyance, dread, resignation, and amusement by various parties.

Rogers was adamant about not being anywhere the reporter could see him, but just as determined to "gather intelligence", so Tony had spent half an hour setting up a temporary "observation center" with multiple screens set to receive the feeds from the security cameras in the conference room the interview was set to take place in. Natasha cornered him with a StarkPad and a grim expression, which led to the two of them hashing out his schedule "barring unforeseen emergencies" and deciding that Tony's official on-call physician would be a better choice to discuss the medical ramifications of the serum instead of Tony himself; he'd taken the time to pass along a file that had flagged in his security protocols, and Natasha had agreed to look into it. Bruce locked himself in the "Other Guy Playroom" for an extensive meditation and serum notes review, which Tony interrupted only once to deliver advance warning of an addition to "Team Science" who was flying in "for the interview". Jane and Darcy left the Tower after breakfast for reasons Tony did not inquire too closely into after making sure they both had their SI panic buttons with them. Clint, as per usual, snagged him by the arm around noon and made him sit down with him and Phil for lunch, and Tony felt some of the roiling tension in his gut settle and dissipate, which he tried to pretend was thanks to the food.

About half an hour before Christine was scheduled to arrive, the tension returned along with an email from the reporter herself that sent Tony into a cursing fit.

"What's the problem?" Clint asked, pausing halfway through the living room door. Tony fought a scowl - it wasn't Clint's fault and he would not take his frustration out on him - and brandished the tablet with the email.

"Christine's photographer backed out when he heard just who she's interviewing," he said with a grimace. "Apparently 'top members of the Stark Industries scientific department' are not that scary, but the asshole is terrified of Bruce. Is Bruce scary, Clint?"

"Have you seen his morning bedhead?" Clint joked, raising his hands in surrender when Tony glared. "Okay, okay, he's a cuddly teddy bear."

"Yeah, well, it's going to be a challenge and a half to find a decent photographer who can take the assignment on short notice _and_ meet the suddenly more strident standards of journalist professionalism," Tony groused. If only he had the time to call up the Bugle and seduce away one or two of that rag's underpaid contract photographers... hell, he'd do it himself if he wasn't supposed to be one of the subjects of the interview!

"Maybe, maybe not..." Clint said thoughtfully, breaking through Tony's thoughts. "You got a camera laying around somewhere?" Tony blinked.

"Photography? Really?"

"Lighting, angle, point and shoot," Clint rattled off with a wink. "I think I can figure it out. Camera?"

"Lab, fifth cabinet on the right-hand wall, bottom right," Tony said after a moment's thought. "The Nikon in the blue bag, not the pocket-sized Canon."

"Cool," Clint said, turning around. "I'll grab Bruce once I know my way around the camera and we'll meet you in the conference room."

"I could honestly kiss you for this, Barton," Tony drawled, the teasing tone hiding just how serious he really was about that statement.

"Rain check!" Clint called over his shoulder. Tony shook his head in admiration and fired off a text message to Natasha, or rather _Ms Rushman_ , that a photographer had been found, then went to shave and get changed into something suitably "upper-middle income" which was more in keeping with his "Dr Anthony" alias and accompanying attitude.

At five minutes before the designated hour, a clean-shaven Dr Edward Anthony entered the conference room in a three-piece JoS A. Bank pinstripe suit to be greeted by a faintly dazed-looking Dr Banner and a glasses-wearing middle-aged man in a long-sleeved polo shirt and khaki slacks who shook his hand and said in a pronounced rural Iowan cadence, "Francis Barksdale. Call me Frank, doc."

"Delighted to meet you, Frank," Dr Anthony replied politely, and caught just a flicker of Clint in "Frank's" expression at the precise Mid-Atlantic accent. "Dr Banner, always a pleasure. I understand your fiancée will be joining us today?"

"I don't know how y-- Tony does these things," Bruce said faintly, just barely catching himself. Dr Anthony smiled slightly.

"I believe he finds a certain sadistic delight in circumventing unfortunately well-connected bullies, Dr Banner," he said kindly.

"Sounds like the boss," Frank drawled, the corner of his jaw twitching slightly. Dr Banner shook his head with a weak laugh that sounded just a touch hysterical and fell back into one of the conference room's plush chairs. The door opened a moment later, forcing him silent, only to send him scrambling to get up when the first person through the door was a willowy brunette woman in an emerald green sundress with forest green half jacket over it. "Betty?"

"Bruce!" the brunette, who could be no one other than Dr Elizabeth Ross with a greeting like that, all but flew into Dr Banner's arms, leaving a demurely-smiling Natalie Rushman to gesture in the bemused-looking Christine Everhart of _Vanity Fair_. Tony, rubbing his hands gleefully behind Dr Anthony's politely bland smile, mentally started a bet with himself on how soon he'd be putting his credentials from the Universal Life Church to use.

With Drs Ross and Banner occupied with each other, Frank wandered over to introduce himself to Miss Everhart as "Frank Barksdale, SI's in-house photographer", and Ms Rushman stepped over to Dr Anthony with her StarkPad.

"I took the liberty of briefing Dr Ross on which portions of her and Dr Banner's research have been declassified for this interview," she said without preamble, "and Ms Potts wishes to know how much of Mr Stark's personal medical history will be discussed so she can have the official word from SI ready to go."

"Mr Stark is quite adamant about maintaining his privacy regarding medical matters," Dr Anthony began, frowning in (only partly feigned) mild annoyance. "However, he has reluctantly agreed, and I concur, that discussing the effects of a diluted serum on an individual suffering from palladium poisoning would be beneficial to both the public and to Stark Industries. I understand Miss Everhart is already in possession of the details regarding Mr Stark's... previous illness?"

"She is, though she has agreed to gloss over the source as being 'related to injuries sustained in Afghanistan'," Ms Rushman confirmed. With her back to Miss Everhart, Natasha gave him a quick once-over and quirked her lips in faint approval before disappearing behind Natalie's polite smile once more. Behind her, Frank lifted his camera and snapped a couple of candid shots of Dr Banner and Dr Ross before reaching into his bag to set up the tripod.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Miss Everhart told a slightly startled Dr Banner, smiling apologetically, "but I'd like to get a few photographs before we begin if that's alright, Dr Banner, Dr Ross?"

"Banner," Dr Ross said with a bright smile. "Bruce and I have been engaged for years, and the paperwork for the name change will have been filed by the time your article is published, if I understand the timing correctly."

"My felicitations," Dr Anthony spoke up politely while Tony did a completely internal happy dance at the sight of Bruce's dopey grin. "Though with two Drs Banner in residence, it will make differentiating a touch awkward."

"You'll just have to use my name like Tony does," Bruce said, too giddy to show his customary shyness. Dr Anthony, motivated by a touch of Tony's mischief, gave his fellow doctor the most dry expression he was capable of.

"I refuse to refer to you as 'Brucie-goosie'," he said, sounding so much like JARVIS at his most dry that even Ms Everhart laughed along with the rest of them, though she kept glancing at him uncertainly. He gave her a politely bland smile and remained where he was next to Ms Rushman while Frank directed Dr Banner and his fiancée to stand against the conference room wall that was painted a flat white.

"You, too, Doc Ant," Frank said, gesturing for him to join the pair. Dr Anthony pursed his lips in disapproval.

"Call me Edward, if you must be familiar," he huffed, reluctantly allowing Ms Rushman to prod him forward. "I dislike the association with Dr Pym, admirable though he is in his field." Standing next to Dr Banner in off the rack dress shoes, it was made rather obvious that he was, in fact, the shortest member of the trio, and Tony's irritability over that was channeled neatly into Dr Anthony's awkwardness and displeasure at being photographed.

He held onto that stuffiness throughout the interview, lapsing briefly into earnest concern when discussing the medical ramifications of the serum and the hazards presented with incautious experimentation, and Christine slowly stopped looking at him as if she expected him to suddenly turn into someone else.

"The mistake many ill-informed persons are wont to make," he said, hands clasped on the conference table and expression severe, "is in assuming that a genetic variation, be it naturally occurring or artificially induced, somehow makes the effected person something other than human. This is most assuredly not the case, and there is no excuse for treating anyone so effected as less of a person than someone without this genetic variation.

"Something my colleague, Dr Henry McCoy, has been arguing for years," Elizabeth Ross broke in with a slight edge to her otherwise pleasantly earnest expression, Dr Banner nodding in agreement beside her.

"Something more people everywhere could stand to remember," Ms Everhart agreed. Behind the reporter's back, Clint beamed at them from behind the flash of Frank's camera, and Natasha smiled softly over the top of Ms Rushman's StarkPad.

Dr Anthony kept Tony's answering smile a secret and pretended not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This right here](http://shop.nikonusa.com/store/nikonusa/en_US/pd/ThemeID.18145600/productID.253191300) is the camera that "Frank" is using. It's not Nikon's most expensive model, but it's still upwards of three grand and worth the expense. Yowza~
> 
> Incidentally, if anyone's head is hurting after reading this chapter, you are not alone; my head hurts just from writing it. ~grimaces~ And I think I'm going to have to extend the chapter numbers again. Ебать.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up. Official chapter count is now somewhere upwards of 42 and should just be assumed as "one more than current until otherwise stated". ~faceplants~

**D** O YOU THINK SHE RECOGNIZED YOU?" Bruce asked as the doors to the elevator slid closed, leaving him and Betty alone with Tony.

"I think she thinks she did," Tony said, running his hands back through his hair and ruffling the neat comb-over into his usual disarray of upswept spikes. "At least until I opened my mouth. She's sharp, so if she did recognize me then she's at least willing to play along."

"So 'Dr Anthony' is really 'Dr Stark'?" Betty asked, raising an eyebrow, looking torn between bemused and impressed. Tony grinned and sketched a half-bow to her.

"Dr Anthony Edward Stark, at your service," he said. "Just Tony is fine, though. Formality usually goes out the window around here about the same time as the explosions start."

"Explosions?" Betty asked, and up went the other eyebrow.

"The Other Guy isn't gone, Betty, just... sort of controlled," Bruce said. He was starting to look worried again. "Are you sure--"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Bruce Darius Banner," Betty said firmly. "I love you, you love me, and the Other Guy has never hurt me when he wasn't pushed past all rationality. No," she said when he started to open his mouth, laying a finger on his lips to silence him. "I blame my father for that incident, not you or your..." She glanced at Tony and smiled a little. "...'big green alter ego'. Understand?"

"Yes, dear," Bruce said meekly, but he was smiling again, so Tony relaxed.

"I meant it earlier, congratulations," he said. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You've done so much already," Betty began.

"That was all Pepper," Tony said, shaking his head. "I told her, 'We need to get Dr Betty Ross out here for Bruce,' and she said, 'There you go proving you have a heart, Tony,' and I told her, 'Keep that just between us and make it happen, please,' and so here you are."

"Ms Potts is frighteningly efficient," Bruce agreed wryly. Exchanging a glance with Betty, he added, "Well, if you're offering, we could use some help finding a minister or justice of the peace on short notice...."

"Pff, that's easy," Tony said. "In house, you've got your choice of me or Darcy, and Fury still owes us so he's available, too--"

"I was kind of hoping to ask you to be my best man," Bruce broke in quietly. Tony stilled, looking at Bruce searchingly. To his credit, Bruce met his gaze steadily, and Tony swallowed against the lump inexplicably forming in his throat.

"I'm honored, Dr Banner," he said softly, earning a shy smile from Bruce and a radiant one from Betty. Clearing his throat, he added awkwardly. "Thor will be sorry he missed it."

"I was thinking of asking Agent Coulson to stand in for him along with Clint and Captain Rogers," Bruce said, glancing at Betty again.

"I've asked Ms Potts to stand as my maid of honor," she said, flushing a little. "So perhaps Agent Romanova and..." She glanced at Bruce.

"Dr Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis," he supplied.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Perhaps they'd be willing to fill out the rest of the party?"

"When?" Tony asked, nodding.

"Tomorrow?" Bruce asked at the same time Betty asked, "Today?" They looked at each other and laughed shakily, blushing and bright eyed like a couple of teenagers.

"Compromise," Tony suggested. "Tomorrow morning at sunrise on the helicarrier so Fury can preside properly as the Captain of his ship?"

"Will he do it on such short notice?" Betty asked, frowning slightly in concern.

"He owes us," Tony repeated, shrugging. "J--" He paused, glancing at Betty. "Were you introduced to JARVIS, yet?"

"Ms Rushman made the introductions in the elevator," Betty said.

"Very efficient of her," Tony murmured, deciding to skip over the whole identity thing for Natasha to clarify or not as she chose. "JARVIS, could you please make sure everyone gets the relevant notices ASAP?" To Betty, he added, "Natasha can wear her Avenger's uniform like the rest of us, but Pepper will want to take you, Jane and Darcy shopping for appropriate dresses while I'm getting Bruce fitted for a tux."

"You don't need to--" Bruce started, but Tony held up a hand.

"Nuh-uh, you are not getting married in the still-unfinished Hulk Pants," he said seriously, eyes sparkling. Bruce snorted, lips twitching.

"You aren't standing for me in the armor," he countered.

"Black suits and shirts for both of us, red and gold tie for me, green tie for you?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Deal," Bruce said. Betty looked back and forth between them and abruptly started giggling.

"Now I see why Pepper called the two of you 'Science bros'," she said to the looks they shot her.

"She does?" Bruce blinked, surprised. Tony chuckled.

"She likes Bruce," he said easily. "Anyone who can rub up against my usual brand of crazy and not make a break for it is usually golden to her."

"I thought you said it was because the Other Guy saved your life," Bruce said, eying Tony uncertainly.

"Eh, that does make me sound a little less pathetic, doesn't it?" Tony conceded, then added as the doors slid open, "Ah, here we are, penthouse level. Bruce shares a floor with Phil - Agent Coulson - and there're two bedrooms in every Avenger's apartment."

"Or I can bunk in Tasha's spare room and you can use my suite if you want to do the whole 'separate before the wedding night' thing," Clint added, coming out of the penthouse kitchen. He'd discarded the glasses and polo shirt in favor of his usual black tank top, but was still wearing the slacks and carrying the camera, and he smiled at them when he looked up.

"Not just 'Frank Barksdale, photographer', then?" Betty said wryly. Tony clamped down on the urge to frown at the way she was eying Clint's arms.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," he said, proffering a hand to shake. "Clint Barton. I shoot things."

"Call me Betty," she said, shaking his hand. "You're one of Bruce's friends, so that makes you one of mine as well."

"Nice to meet you, Betty," Clint said politely, then looked at Tony. When his expression turned slightly more serious, Tony had to fight a frown. "Tasha's gone on to SI to update Pepper on how the interview went. Phil's going to intercept her there to discuss SHIELD's current guest on the helicarrier."

"Do prdele!" Tony muttered, reaching up to rub his eyes. "When it rains it pours. JARVIS, where's Captain Rogers now?"

"Captain Rogers has returned to his suite from the temporary security office, Sir," JARVIS answered promptly.

"Right. I'm going to go change into something more Tony before dragging him to the gym. If he wants to hit something then, at least the punching bags will be close by."

"I could honestly kiss you for this, Stark," Clint drawled. Tony glanced up at him, saw the seriousness in his eyes, and managed a half-smile.

"Rain check," he said, then cleared his throat. "You and Bruce can take care of getting Betty settled, right?"

"Go on, we got this," Clint nodded.

"Thanks," Tony nodded to Betty and Bruce before heading quickly for the hall to his room. Behind him, he could hear Clint brightly asking Betty if Bruce had gotten around to explaining SOAPS to her, and let himself really smile for a moment before turning his mind more towards preparing to hunt down Rogers to prepare him for what was probably an overdue reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do prdele!" - "Fuck!" in Czech. I don't speak Czech any more than I speak Russian, so Bing has helped out once more.


	29. Chapter 29

**S** TEVE WAS ALMOST EXPECTING THE KNOCK ON HIS DOOR, interrupting his progress on the newest segment of Stark's-- _Tony's_ file. (He was reading intimate details of the man's past, the least he could do was call him by his name, especially given his presently ambivalent feelings regarding Howard.) Thinking it was Agent Coulson, he left the files on the coffee table and went to the door.

He was _not_ expecting Tony - still clean-shaven, which made him look a lot younger, but still much more recognizably Tony instead of "Dr Anthony" as he'd been in that interview - to be the one on the other side of the door looking incongruously grim. The man's expression shifted when he caught sight of the spill of papers across the coffee table behind Steve.

"That my file?" he asked, blinking a little. Baffled, Steve nodded.

"Parts seventeen and eighteen of twenty, or so I'm told," he said awkwardly. Tony's eyebrows shot up.

"Twenty? Wow, didn't realize it was _that_ big..." he trailed off and shook his head slightly, the grim expression returning. "We need to talk."

"Okay?" Steve said, feeling a weird twist of panic. He started to step back, but Tony shook his head and jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the gymnasium that stood between Steve's apartment and the one shared by Dr Foster and Darcy.

"Not here, gym," he said, adding dryly, "You're probably going to want to hit something after this, and I'd just as soon have it be the adamantium reinforced punching bag than me."

"I wouldn't!" Steve protested automatically, alarmed and just a little sick that Tony would think Steve would _hit_ him for what was apparently going to be bad news. Something flickered in Tony's expression, there and gone again to fast to identify, and he offered a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, then turned and headed for the gym, obviously expecting Steve to follow. More than a little off-balance (and that was becoming a habit around Tony, Steve realized ruefully), he grabbed his shoes and followed, awkwardly hopping to put them on. "JARVIS, make sure nobody but Captain Rogers gets into his suite until he returns, and sound the alarm if anyone other than one of the team tries."

"As you wish, Sir," JARVIS responded stoically. Tony nodded shortly and pushed the left-hand door to the gym open, gesturing Steve in before following, letting the door swing shut after them. Steve followed Tony over to the benches along one wall near the punching bag corner and sat when the other man did, taking the chance to tie his shoelaces.

"Do I at least get a hint?" Steve asked, when Tony seemed intent on just sitting there and frowning. "I mean, you're starting to make me think someone's died again." Tony blinked, startled.

"What?" he said. "No, no, nothing like that. Kind of the opposite, actually. Um, okay... shit, how do I...." He grimaced and scowled at the wall.

Steve waited.

"...Okay, here it is," Tony said after a moment. "A few decades ago, the Russians started up something called the Black Widow program. I'm not telling you this to betray any confidences, I'm telling you because for reasons I'm about to get into, Natasha's getting this same talk from Phil right about now. With me?"

"Sort of," Steve said. He stopped himself from asking any of the questions bubbling to the surface, waiting for Tony to go on.

"Right," Tony exhaled. "Well, the program was only started because of a top-level assassin in the Soviet shadow government known as the Winter Soldier. He hand-picked Natasha from the candidates presented, trained her, and I'm sure there's more to it than that, but that's Natasha's business. SHIELD's information on the Winter Soldier indicated a heavy level of repeated conditioning being necessary to keep him from going off-grid. There was even an attempt made to bring him over to our side back in the eighties, but the SHIELD contact was killed and the Winter Soldier disappeared the day before they would have made the rendesvous. Recently - and I mean _very_ recently - it became possible and more urgent to SHIELD to make another attempt."

"Is that what Agent Coulson was doing?" Steve broke in. At Tony's look, he added defensively, "He was 'dead' for three weeks before he came back, and he said himself he'd recovered from Loki's attack quickly."

"Good reasoning," Tony acknowledged. "And you're right. Phil found the Winter Soldier, swayed him, and brought him in. SHIELD had me build him a prosthetic arm to replace the one the Russians gave him, and they've been keeping me updated on the test results of his shaking the conditioning and regaining his equilibrium and... his memories."

"Memories?" Steve repeated, catching the hesitation and straightening. "And why..." He trailed off as realization hit. "They want him to join the Avengers. That's why they gave you his medical records and asked you to rebuild his arm."

"That's the plan," Tony said. He paused, looking conflicted, and Steve felt his stomach twist.

"What else is there?" he asked quietly. Tony glanced up at him and offered a weak version of his usual grin.

"Promise not to hit me?" he said. Steve swallowed and nodded. Tony let out a breath and visibly braced himself, looking Steve square in the eyes. "Natasha knows the Winter Soldier as 'Yasha', but that wasn't the name he was born with, and it wasn't the name he answered to when they dug him out of the ice in Germany."

The bottom dropped out of Steve's stomach, the world narrowing in focus down to just Tony, his chest tightening as the edges of his vision started to blur. "...ice in..." he choked out, hands reaching unsteadily to grip the edge of the bench.

"Germany, yes," he heard Tony say as if from a great distance. "The Winter Soldier's real name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your friend Bucky's still alive."

Steve's ears roared and the world fell away.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All right, I know that last chapter was a cliffhanger, so here's the next chapter early.

**C** LINT WAS LEAVING BRUCE AND BETTY IN HIS APARTMENT, with his own door locked, of course, to head down to Tony's lab to pull the photographs and return the camera when his phone beeped at him. He pulled it out, absently wondering when Tony had gotten a hold of it to change his text alert to the notes for "hey nonny nonny and-a here we go!" from Mel Brooks's rendition of Robin Hood, and noticed that the text was from Tony himself.

_Cap passed out when I told him. Help me carry him to the lab?_

_On my way._ Clint hit send and stuffed the phone back in his pocket as he turned for the elevator. "Which way, JARVIS?"

"The gym, Agent Barton. Sir determined it wisest to inform Captain Rogers of recent developments where there would be a convenient punching bag."

"Smart thinking," Clint murmured, then rolled his eyes at himself. "Yes, I know he's a super-genius, but even geniuses can miss the occasional detail."

"Indeed, Sir," JARVIS said after a moment's hesitation. Clint looked up suspiciously at the security camera in the elevator as he stepped in.

"You're thinking that's what he keeps the rest of us around for, aren't you?" he said flatly.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Sir," JARVIS protested. Clint chuckled.

"It's okay, J," he said, leaning back against the wall of the elevator as the doors slid closed and began to descend. "It's nothing I haven't thought myself."

"I am certain Sir keeps you around for more reasons than only your frequently applicable insight and attention to detail, Agent Barton," JARVIS offered, making Clint grin.

"Guess I'm lucky he likes my pizza casserole so much," he joked as the doors slid open again.

"I like you for a lot more than that," Tony called out from the door to the gym. Clint noticed the anxious squint to his... boyfriend? Paramour? What the hell was he supposed to call Tony now, anyway? To _Tony's_ eyes as he approached, and the nervous flexing of his hands.

"He hasn't stirred?" Clint asked, frowning.

"Not an inch," Tony confirmed, grimacing. "I don't _think_ he hit is head too hard on the bench, so there's probably more going on than just a shock to the system, and he's the only one who hasn't gotten a medical check-up here."

"So long as it's not life-threatening, I'm never letting him live this down," Clint said, earning a quicksilver-sharp smirk from the other man.

"Deal."

Clint was still supposed to be taking it easy with his back and shoulders, so he picked up Rogers's legs, wrapping his arms diagonally around his knees as Tony lifted the man at the shoulders. A quick exchange of glances and head-tilts and they were off, maneuvering the unconscious man off the bench and towards the door.

"God, I'd kill to have Thor down here right about now," Clint grumbled as he adjusted his grip on Rogers's legs.

"Pun intended?" Tony asked with a snort that turned into a curse as he nearly lost his grip on Rogers' shoulders, just as they were stepping into the open elevator. "Damn, he's big..."

"That's what she said," Clint cracked as they turned and he stepped in to let the doors close. He was frowning though. "His legs are thin...."

"He's light, too," Tony muttered. "Lighter than he should be with his height and frame...."

"...How much has he been eating?" Clint asked after a moment, frowning. "SHIELD was feeding him a lot of high-calorie meals and supplements because of his metabolism--"

"Being four times faster than normal men, yeah," Tony broke in, frowning. "But he grew up in the Depression and--"

"Rations were pretty scanty in the war, weren't they?" Clint added, frowning further. "And Cap's well-demonstrated as being the self-sacrificing type--"

"He'd have given his share to the others in his unit if they'd have let him get away with it," Tony nodded. "Damn it... And he went on that road trip after the battle."

"If he didn't know SHIELD's been feeding him supplements," Clint began worriedly.

"He wouldn't know he needs to eat three to four times as much as usual," Tony finished grimly. The doors slid open and Clint turned, backing out and turning towards the lab as Tony followed. "JARVIS, adjust the bio-scanner for a horizontal occupant and pull up Cap's medical records."

"Shall I inform Dr Banner of the situation, Sir?" JARVIS asked. Tony glanced at Clint, who thought about it for a moment then shook his head slightly.

"I'll bring him up to speed when we go suit shopping, JARVIS," Tony said. "For now, I need a multivitamin shot and two CCs of adrenaline. Adrenaline first," he added as he and Clint carefully laid Rogers down into the bed created by the repositioned scanner.

"Very well, Sir," JARVIS replied. A moment later a mechanical arm extended from the side of the scanner bed with two clear glass vials, one more full than the other. Muttering under his breath in something that sounded like a mix of German and Gaelic, Tony grabbed the smaller vial and began filling a long-needled syringe with it. "Scan complete, Sir." Clint reached in immediately and pulled Rogers's shirt up to his chin, exposing his chest for a clear shot.

"Here goes," Tony said, clearing the syringe of air. Flipping it in his fingers in a way that put Clint briefly in mind of one of the ribbon dancers from Carter's, he placed his thumb on the plunger and thrust downward, hitting the mark exactly.

The result was instantaneous. Rogers's eyes snapped open and he let out a yell, surging upwards and striking out blindly towards Tony, who dodged and leaped backwards.

"Whoa, whoa, Rog-- _STEVE_ , calm the fuck down, soldier!" Tony shouted, even as he waved Clint back. Clint froze, tense, and watched as Rogers slowed, still breathing heavily, not relaxing until Rogers focused on Tony with recognition.

"Tony?" he asked, not sounding all together quite yet. "What... where...?" He looked around, saw Clint and stilled at the battle-ready posture Clint knew he still held, and swung back to look at Tony with alarm as he took in Tony's own defensive crouch. "Oh, fuck, I'm so--"

"It's fine," Tony broke in shortly, straightening and stepping forward to gingerly pluck the long-needled syringe out of the man's chest, pressing a cotton ball to the entry point and taping it down with a roll of medical tape he'd produced from somewhere while Clint was watching Rogers. The tablet nearest him beeped, as did the one next to Clint a moment later, and they both picked them up. "Though now that you're awake, maybe we could do the multivitamin shot without the ducking?"

"And then we can talk about why you're dehydrated and malnourished as well as anemic," Clint added, taking in the information on the tablet he'd picked up and frowning. Rogers started to frown and Clint pinned him with a glare. "Don't even, _Captain_. Phil let me get away with dodging medical for years because the Marines trained me as a field medic as well as a sniper, and I know how to read and fill out my own charts."

"One of the reasons I called him to help carry you here from the gym," Tony added as he set the tablet aside again and picked up another, smaller syringe and the other clear vial. Rogers blushed.

"You carried me?" he said in a small voice.

"You're not that heavy," Clint said, brandishing the tablet. "Which, by the way, is what clued us in to why you weren't waking up at all. Arm."

"What?"

" _Arm_ ," Clint repeated, nodding in Tony's direction while still looking at Rogers. Startled, the man extended his arm, jerking once when Tony gripped his elbow before holding completely still as he was injected with the multivitamin solution. A cotton ball was pressed over the entry point between Tony's thumb and forefinger and the syringe was withdrawn.

"That'll help in the short term," Tony said, grabbing a roll of tape and tossing it to Clint, who obligingly ripped off a piece and handed it to him to tape down the cotton. "However, it's just a stopgap. I'm going to give you some supplements to take three times a day with food, and I want you to start eating five moderate meals every day. Don't stuff yourself, just eat what you can at every meal, but don't skip any of them while your body adjusts to regular food again."

"But SHIELD--" Rogers began.

"SHIELD was feeding you high calorie foods liberally laced with supplements," Clint told him bluntly. "And they were still getting you back up to par from being in the ice when that first attack came."

"Ice," Rogers repeated, sitting up straighter, eyes wide. "Bucky--"

"Stand _down_!" Tony barked, sounding for a moment just like a drill sergeant that Rogers and Clint both straightened up to attention. Tony blinked, and Clint cracked a grin at him, which made him roll his eyes. More normally, he said, "Barnes is on the helicarrier right now. You can see him tomorrow when we all assemble for Bruce's wedding."

"Wedding? Tomorrow?" Rogers said, shaking his head a little in bewilderment. "...How long was I out for?"

"Only about ten minutes, give or take a few seconds," Tony said, his tone a bit more gentle. "Bruce and Betty want to hurry so General Ross can't get the chance to stop them. You and Clint can wear your Avenger uniforms."

"Tony's the best man," Clint broke in, smirking.

"Phil's standing in for Thor as the fourth groomsman," Tony countered, just as Clint's phone beeped again. Reminded of the tones, he shot a Look at Tony, who studiously didn't look at him, and slid his phone from his pocket.

"...And Fury is confirming his willingness to perform the ceremony," Clint said, reading off the text. "But he's not dressing up."

"How hard did I hit my head?" Rogers asked, a little dazedly. Tony snorted softly.

"You're about due for one of those five mandatory meals," he said, tapping in a few commands to his tablet. A message bubble appeared soundlessly on the tablet in Clint's hand and he casually set it down.

"I'll take Cap back up to his suite and inventory his kitchen," he said. "You grab Bruce and go get your haberdashering done."

"Communal dinner tonight," Tony said, waving over his shoulder as he headed for the door to track down Bruce. Clint forced himself not to stare too long at Tony's retreating rear end, turning instead to offer Rogers a hand.

"C'mon, Rogers, let's get you fed," he said. Rogers gave him a weak smile.

"I thought carrying a fella would at least put you on first name terms," he said, even as he accepted the hand and let Clint help him out of the scanner bed.

"You'd be surprised," Clint said wryly, thinking of the myriad of agents who still called him 'Agent Barton' with a touch of fear even after he'd set their broken bones in the field or carried them back to the medevac choppers. "If you want me to call you Steve, just say so."

"Please?" Rogers said quietly. Clint regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

"JARVIS, go ahead and reset the bio-scanner to standard position and lock up the lab after us, please," he said, nudging the taller man towards the door. "Let's go, Steve, we still need to dig out your uniform and make sure it won't be hanging off your bones like the rest of your clothes."

"It feels familiar," Ro-- _Steve_ admitted, looking down at the slightly loose t-shirt and tightly-belted slacks. Clint shook his head, pushing Steve gently towards the elevator as the doors to the lab slid gently closed behind them.

"No one's expecting you to just be okay overnight, you know," he said pointedly. Steve smiled a little.

"Agent Coulson said the same thing," he said, a little ruefully.

"He's a smart guy," Clint informed him, deadpan. "Food, Captain."

"Yes, sir," Steve said, sketching something passably like his normal three-fingered salute.

"Oh, call me Clint, already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~breathes out~ So, that chapter took a sharp detour from what I'd originally planned out. I don't know if the adrenaline measurement is accurate for someone of Steve's size, metabolism, and accompanying health issues, as I'm not a medical doctor, so if I got it wrong... claim Marvel universe rules?


	31. Chapter 31

**I** T WAS STILL A COUPLE HOURS BEFORE DAWN, meaning sunrise-dawn and not clock-dawn, when the Avengers plus add-ons assembled on the landing pad of Stark Tower to meet the Quinjet they'd be taking up to the helicarrier. Nursing a large cup of coffee that Tony had thoughtfully handed her on their way up, Pepper looked around at the group with a mix of interest and weary pride.

Natasha had chosen to wear her standard uniform, but had swapped the black belt with a sash made of iridescent crimson and burgundy silk, the ends trailing beneath her hourglass motif buckle to brush her knees. Her hair had been pinned on top of her head save for a few curls at the front framing her face and was held in place with a pair of ornamental hairsticks that Pepper thought might actually be weapons of some kind. The result was both deadly competent and beautiful, which Pepper thought suited Natasha perfectly.

Next to her, Clint had also made an effort to look nicer for the occasion, a full-sleeved dark purple "poet's shirt" underneath his usual vest and arm guards which made him look a little like a romantic pirate until one noticed that the "sword" was actually a high-tech collapsible bow along with his equally high-tech quiver of specialty arrows.

Pepper hid a smile in her coffee as she let her eyes pan to the young woman he was talking to. Darcy Lewis looked particularly fetching (if still bleary-eyed behind her painstakingly applied make-up) in the crimson scoop-necked dress they'd all decided on for the bridesmaids. She'd tied a hastily-made sash of blue fabric with white stars around her waist to more closely match Steve, who wore his regular Captain America uniform sans cowl and carried his shield slung across his back.

Steve himself was engaged in casual, if slightly awkward conversation with Phil, who had joined Tony and Bruce on their suit fitting cum "bachelor party". The black on black suit was offset by a crimson tie and someone, probably Darcy, had made him a make-shift tie pin out of what had probably been Jane's necklace. The old-fashioned "Thor's Hammer" amulet rested in the center of the crimson tie with the silver chain leading off and behind it to either side to signify his position as stand-in for the God of Thunder.

In compliment, Jane wore the matching earrings to the necklace, and the sash she'd chosen was dark blue shot through with gold thread to resemble abstract clouds and lightning. Her hair had been pulled back out of her face and tied at the nape of her neck with a ribbon made of the same material, and she was in animated conversation with Bruce, Betty and Tony.

Tony, Pepper had been pleased to note, wore the same black on black suit and shirt as Phil and Bruce, but where Bruce's tie was made of emerald green silk, Tony's was gold with red and silver pinstripes running diagonally and pinned with what Pepper hoped was only a miniature _replica_ of the Arc reactor. (It glowed with blue light, which could have just been blue phosphorus under the glass, but she wouldn't put it past Tony to have made _actual_ reactors into jewelry.) Still, it explained why he'd handed her a jewelry box with a similar pin inside when she'd arrived the night before. Her own miniature Arc reactor was holding together the ends of the cloth of gold sash she'd added to her own dress. Pepper wasn't entirely convinced that the crimson dress didn't wash her out, but Betty had assured her that the red and gold complimented her complexion and hair rather than clashing.

Betty, Pepper noticed with satisfaction, looked radiant, her dark hair braided and coiled up elegantly beneath a fall of white lace that matched the lace overskirt Pepper's on-call seamstress had added to the mint green dress Betty had insisted upon. Looking back and forth between Betty and Bruce, her white and pale green next to his black with emerald, Pepper couldn't help but think how striking the pair looked together. Happiness definitely looked good on Bruce Banner, she decided, and it was abundantly obvious that Betty made him just as happy as he clearly made her.

"You're looking pleased with yourself," Tony commented from where he'd suddenly appeared at her elbow, so focused on Bruce and Betty had she been that she hadn't noticed him moving.

"As well she should!" Darcy said, wandering over and stifling a yawn behind her hand. "Seriously, if I ever have to plan my wedding in twelve hours or less, I'm totally calling Pepper for help."

"In the event of your wedding, I want two weeks notice minimum," Phil said dryly. To Pepper's surprise, Steve blushed slightly at that. Interesting...

"Dad, if I ever get married, you'll probably know before whichever guy or girl it is pops the question," Darcy said, smiling fondly at her father.

"Girl?" Steve blurted out, looking surprised.

"Hey, it _is_ legal now in some states!" Darcy said, though not too defensively Pepper noticed. Steve blushed again.

"No, I mean... I didn't realize you were..." He was clearly floundering, which Pepper privately found hilarious. Darcy seemed to have expected the reaction and took pity on him.

"I might favor the opposite gender more often, but I like to consider myself an equal opportunity date," she said. From the look on Steve's face, Pepper figured he must have had a dozen questions forming, but the wind picking up slightly and the roar of the Quinjet's engine announcing its arrival curtailed any further conversation until they were inside and carefully strapping in.

"Okay, everybody," Tony said brightly. "Knock on wood and hope we don't get attacked in the middle of Brucie's wedding!" Pepper was amused to note that Clint promptly tapped his knuckles against one of the arrow shafts in his quiver. Darcy, however, snorted.

"Who's worried about Bruce?" she said. "No offense, man, but if we get attacked during the wedding it's _Betty_ I'll be diving out of the way of."

"None taken," Bruce said with a wry smile, nodding in agreement. Betty looked amused.

"You'd really rather deal with the... _Other Guy_ than the bride?" the Quinjet pilot asked, glancing back at them uncertainly. Most of the Quinjet's occupants rolled their eyes at that. Darcy pinning him with a patronizing look.

"Okay, one? It takes some serious guts to marry a superhero, especially a heavy hitter like one of these guys," she said, gesturing around to the assembled Avengers. Pepper found herself nodding in agreement, and noticed Jane doing the same. Darcy smirked. "Second? Hulk smash; _Betty_ will _eviscerate_ whoever's stupid enough to try and spoil her and Bruce's big day."

"...Point taken," the pilot muttered, glancing at Betty's frighteningly calm and pleasant smile before ducking quickly back into the cockpit. Tony beamed at Darcy.

"It's like you're me, but with boobs," he said. Clint snorted, and Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Not outside the realm of possibility given reports we've coerced out of Dr Richards," Natasha commented.

"Frightening thought," Phil muttered, earning a "Hey!" from two directions. Pepper couldn't help agreeing with him, but years of dealing with Tony had trained her not to say so where he could hear her. Steve was looking between the two of them and... blushing?

Well, now. That would be interesting to watch unfold. As Tony began a familiar rant about the short-sightedness and recklessness of Dr Reed Richards, Pepper hid another smile in her not quite empty coffee cup and settled in for the flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [Thor's Hammer Amulet](http://img3.etsystatic.com/000/0/6003802/il_570xN.329584779.jpg) design I had in mind for the earrings and "tie pin" that Jane and Coulson wear.
> 
> [This is the bridesmaids' dress](http://www.dessy.com/dresses/bridesmaid/6667/?color=burgundy&colorid=8#.UMMBUGfmXmU), in Flame Red, deliberately chosen by all three women (with input from Natasha, even though she didn't have to wear it) to be adaptable to future occasions. The colours of the fabrics for [Darcy's sash](http://s3.amazonaws.com/bonanzleimages/afu/images/2755/8117/__kgrhqvhjeoe-luv7yrsbpru__yfjw__60_57.jpg), [Jane's sash](http://bonanzleimages.s3.amazonaws.com/afu/images/5711/6573/022608-6_full.jpg), and [Pepper's sash](http://www.joann.com/joann/catalog/zoomImagedetail.jsp?PRODID=1114347&imageType=m&itemType=sku) are all available commercially. Jane and Darcy have tied their sashes snugly at the waist using square knots with the ends trailing down front and center, while Pepper's sash is pinned similarly.


	32. Chapter 32

**A** LL JOKING AND SEMI-SERIOUS CONCERN ASIDE, the closest thing to a disaster to happen during the ceremony was the moment Bruce nearly panicked over not having the wedding rings before Tony steadied him and slid the ring box into his hand. Bruce and Betty solemnly promised to love, honor, cherish and be faithful "through green rage and red passion, through golden joy and silver tears, through blue sadness and black despair, and through violet rapture into the white of peace". If Fury sounded a little choked up as he pronounced them "man and wife", well, nobody was brave enough (or foolish enough) to call him on it, and the whole bridge crew stood to applaud when he presented "Dr and Dr Mrs Banner" to the assembled party.

Quick as the ceremony was, the group cleared the bridge even more quickly, Tony lingering briefly to exchange a few words with Fury that Clint pretended not to be lipreading as he waited for the other man.

"Clint?"

Clint stilled, expression sliding into the blandly polite mask he'd learned from Phil, and turned, aware that the others were turning back to look at the sound of someone unfamiliar hailing him by name and that Tony had paused to glance at him. Turning his head slightly, Clint could just see the blonde hair and sweet features of Agent Barbara "Bobbi" Morse hovering by his elbow, just as he'd expected to.

"Agent Morse," Clint said, his tone even and polite without any other inflection. "Did you need something?"

Bobbi actually flinched slightly, looking away, then down, then around at the rest of the bridge crew and the other Avengers who were all pretending not to be eavesdropping. "I... was hoping to talk to you," she said, her eyes lifting briefly to his before skittering away again. _Alone_ , she obviously meant.

"The team has to get back to the Tower soon," he said, turning enough to face her and leaning against the frame of the door. _You want to talk to me, you talk here where I have witnesses._ Her expression tightened slightly.

"...How are you?" she asked at length. Clint could still read the other questions she wanted to ask but didn't dare risk with so many people listening. _Where have you been? How long were you locked up? When did Psych let you loose?_

"Better than usual," Clint said pleasantly. _Elsewhere. I wasn't. Just because you don't see me arrive for my appointments with Psych doesn't mean I'm ducking them like I duck Medical._

"Oh," Bobbi said, blinking. "I'm glad to hear it."

_I'll just bet you are,_ Clint thought, though he kept the mental scorn from reaching his face, waiting. She broke first, as he'd expected.

"I was... do you want to get a drink sometime?" she asked, the words to the question stumbling together. Clint caught a shifting from Tasha. He could barely see Tony from the corner of his eye and didn't have the right angle to read his expression.

"I drink tea these days," he said blandly. "Not alcohol." She looked taken aback, as if she honestly hadn't expected him to not drink alcohol, even after that disastrous op.

"....You've changed a lot," Bobbi said after a moment. _I don't know if I like it,_ Clint could hear.

"Time and distance will do that," Clint said firmly. _Time you weren't there for, distance you created because you thought I was too immature, too wild, too_ me _to try and make anything work once the op was over and the papers signed, and don't think for a minute that little conversation you had with Lanoshin and Parish about my 'jumping ship to side with the enemy so easily' didn't reach my ears._ "Not everything's changed," he conceded after a moment.

"Still think birds like us can build nests, Hawkeye?" Bobbi tried, lips curving up into a smile that had once sent Clint's pulse racing and now only made him want to back away.

"I think I already have, Mockingbird," he said coolly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her jerk back slightly, her eyes flickering over his shoulder. Glancing briefly at Tony and Fury, he added more neutrally, "And the right to roost there is earned, not begged, borrowed or bestowed." _You want to fly with us, you prove you can fly on your own first._

"Agent Morse," Phil said from behind him. Clint straightened his spine slightly at the 'mission' tone. Bobbi, however, paled as well as coming to attention.

"Sir," she said.

"Agent Barton has a flight to catch with the rest of his team," _Agent Coulson_ informed her, coming to stand at Clint's shoulder and staring her down. "And I believe you have other things to see to?"

"Yes, sir," Bobbi said, looking a hair away from saluting before she disappeared down the hall. She didn't even look back at Clint.

Not that he'd expected her to; he was a little surprised she'd even tried.

"Well!" Tony said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen. "Sounds like our cue to skiddaddle. Fury, always a pleasure, we must do this again sometime."

"Just promise me the next wedding won't be yours, Stark," Fury grumbled. Clint's gut twisted, but Tony just grinned evilly.

"Aww, you love me really, Nicky," he cooed, earning a one-eyed glare in return.

"Get off my helicarrier, Stark!" the man growled. Tony tossed off a deliberately sloppy salute and sauntered down to join the rest of them.

"You heard the man, let's get going, shoo, reception's not going to wait for us!" Tony paused. "Actually, it will, but whatever, off we go!"

"Thanks," Clint murmured as everyone continued down the hall to the hanger where the Quinjet was waiting, falling into step beside Tony.

"Anytime," Tony murmured back. "They're gonna ask, if they don't already know."

"I'd have to tell them anyway before she gets assigned to the auxiliary team you and Fury are forming," Clint nudged Tony's shoulder with his own.

"She good enough?" Tony asked, nudging back. Clint snorted.

"Not yet," he said dryly. "But she could be, if she can get past her own ego and let go of some hang-ups."

"Not like any of us can claim to be well-adjusted individuals,"

"Touché,"

"You boys done gossiping back there?" Tasha asked, turning to look over her shoulder at them.

"Aw, we were just getting to the hair-braiding stage!" Tony mock-whined.

"He promised to let me paint his toenails purple if I could give him cornrows!" Clint added in a matching tone.

"Who thought it was a good idea to let those two join forces?" Phil muttered not quite under his breath.

"You did," Darcy murmured back, grinning wickedly.

"What was I thinking?"

"How awesome we are?" Tony joked.

"How fucked we were otherwise?" Tasha offered, deadpan.

"Children..." Steve mumbled, rolling his eyes. The rest of the group, even Betty and Jane, turned apologetic puppy-eyes on him.

"Sorry, Dad," they chorused before breaking down into giggles as they entered the hanger. The pilot who'd brought them in, standing by the doors to the Quinjet, took one look at them and all but fled the hanger.

"What's with him?" Jane asked innocently.

"Junior agents," Clint, Tasha, Darcy and Phil said in unison.

"Wasn't that our pilot?" Pepper asked, frowning. "Who's taking us back to the Tower?"

"I think that's me, ma'am," said a voice from the interior of the Quinjet. Tasha and Steve both froze as a brown-haired man in a shield-issue flight suit and non-standard bomber jacket stepped into view. Clint noticed with faint surprise (and a little flush of pleasure he ruthlessly squashed) that the clearly robotic left hand was painted a metallic dark blue.

"Yasha..." Tasha breathed, her hands twitching like she didn't know whether to reach for a weapon, grab him and hug him, or strangle him with her bare hands.

"Talia," James Buchanan Barns said softly, his eyes moving from her to Steve. "...Hey, punk. Long time no see."

" _Bucky_!"


	33. Chapter 33

**S** TEVE ENDED UP BEING THE ONE TO RIDE IN THE COCKPIT WITH BARNES, which surprised no one. Natasha sat in the seat nearest the cockpit on the right with Clint next to her and Tony next to Clint. Darcy sat across from Natasha with Jane beside her. Phil and Pepper had sat together on the left, which put Bruce and Betty next to Tony on the right, and despite being up in the cockpit and distracted by his newly (to him) resurrected best friend, Steve was undoubtedly able to hear everything. Nobody had pushed, but Tony could see which ones knew and which ones didn't by who kept glancing at Clint, so he knew Clint had noticed.

Jane was the first to break. "Ex-girlfriend?"

"Ex- _wife_ ," Clint corrected, shrugging a little when Jane winced. "Sort of. It's complicated."

"It's _classified_ ," Phil grumbled, which made Clint smirk at him.

"There's enough about it that isn't," he pointed out, leaning back and flexing his hands a little. His knee bumped against Tony's lightly, and Tony pretended not to notice.

"You don't have to tell us..." Bruce started, but trailed off sheepishly when Clint raised an eyebrow at him.

"So, Budapest," he said, clasping his hands on his lap. "Half of you already know about that mission and the resulting clusterfuck that followed a rather spectacular--"

"Didn't we agree never to speak of that again?" Natasha broke in, her calm tone belied by the faint flush of her cheeks. Manfully, Tony restrained himself from grinning at her as he recalled what he'd read of the incident. Feathers and sequins....

" _Anyway_ ," Clint continued blithely, as if Natasha hadn't spoken, "while everyone involved was recovering from the experience, we got a tip on some possible corruption in Cross Technological Enterprises and since _some_ people seem to think it's a bad idea for me to be bored--" He looked pointedly at Phil, who strove to look blandly innocent. "--I got sent in undercover as part of the company's security team to act as back-up for one _very_ junior Agent Barbara Morse."

"Except Agent Morse's handler had apparently neglected to inform her of the identity of her back-up," Phil said, scowling darkly.

"Long story short, she thought the best way to get through security to ferret out the corruption was to seduce the 'broodingly quiet security chief'," Clint said wryly, tipping an imaginary hat to his audience. "I probably shouldn't have laughed in her face when I turned her down, since between that and finding out I was supposed to be her back-up, she got... hm, _competitive_."

"She saw him as a rival and a challenge," Natasha filled in, drawing up one knee and clasping her hands around it in a pose Tony recognized from seeing Clint use. "They were almost constantly fighting, with her trying to one-up him and him trying to stop her from blowing both their covers."

"So how did you... I mean, how did _that_ lead to...?" Jane floundered. Darcy grinned.

"Vegas, baby!" she crowed, throwing up her arms.

"Pretty much," Clint agreed as the laughter faded. "Apparently the guys on the security team with me had noticed the 'heat' between me and 'Miss Moray'. Since my cover required me to be able to drink with the rest of them, I'd at least built up more of a tolerance than I let on, but Bobbi..."

"Oh, dear," Betty said quietly, looking concerned.

"Drunk women coming onto me are a turn-off," Clint said, lips smiling but eyes shadowed. Tony pressed his leg very carefully closer against Clint's in support, pretending to study his fingernails. Huh, there was a little bit of engine grease still trapped alongside that nail... Clint pressed back briefly, just a hair, and Tony felt the knot behind the reactor unwind a little.

"So what happened?" Jane asked, leaning forward.

"Once she sobered up enough to regret her actions, we talked," Clint said. "Well, she yelled, I yelled back, she tried to hit me, I pinned her to the wall, and halfway through the worst decision of our lives we realized that we were going to have to go along with it and pretend to be in love to keep our respective covers. Unfortunately, her cover didn't require a substantially different personality from normal, but 'Clayton Kurakowski' wasn't much like 'Clint Barton', so when the op ended..."

"She couldn't handle it?" Betty finished, a sad and knowing look in her eyes. Bruce clasped her hand, and she squeezed back tightly.

"Got it in one," Clint agreed. "Broodingly quiet and occasionally attempting romantic, she could handle, but 'sarcastic asshole agent with a penchant for weird missions and higher security clearance' was a deal-breaker. We signed the divorce papers, she got reassigned, and I took a mission to Bulgaria."

"Which is also classified," Phil said pointedly. Darcy was looking grim, though, which made Tony do a quick run through of Clint's file. Bulgaria... Sofi-- _oh_. Ouch, that... yeah, Tony could see how that would've influenced what went down, could empathize, really.

_You did the same thing after Whitney...._

Tony shied away from that thought quickly after making a mental note to ask Clint if it counted that he hadn't actually been _married_ , just emotionally invested. He caught Pepper glancing at him, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. So, she'd probably caught the parallels, too, even if she didn't know the details.

"Anyway, enough about my depressing love life," Clint said after a moment. "Let's focus on Bruce and Betty's now significantly less depressing love life. You two manage to plan a honeymoon at all?"

"They're flying out to California to stay in my place in Malibu for a week day after tomorrow," Tony spoke up, glad to encourage a change in topic.

"It'll be safer there, just in case," Pepper added. From the grim look the newlyweds exchanged, it was clear that no one needed to explain further just why safety was a concern.

"We'll be back before the test run of Dr Foster's 'Midgardian Bifrost'," Betty said, breaking the lowering mood. "It will be interesting to meet Thor. I understand my husband's other half likes playing with him."

It should have been a perfectly innocent comment. It really should have. But the glint in Betty's eyes as she said it and the brilliant blush that spread across Bruce's face made everyone else burst out laughing. Tony even caught the unfamiliar sound of Barnes's laughter mixed with Steve's slightly mortified-sounding chuckles.

_You sure picked a pistol, Bruce,_ Tony thought fondly. _And I am probably never going to tell you how glad I am she really does deserve you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know her, [Barbara Morse](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mockingbird_%28Marvel_Comics%29) is canonically a 616!universe love interest for Clint, and while they do get married in the comic continuity, it happens _very_ differently than what I've outlined for this universe.
> 
> "Whitney" refers to Whitney Frost, which is the real name of [Madam Masque](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madame_Masque), an Iron Man villain and periodic lover of Tony Stark. While this might still come into play later, for now she's simply a former corporate spy whose romance with and subsequent discovery by Tony resulted in the strident protocols mentioned back in chapter 21.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be driving all of tomorrow (ten hours by car with two cats and a toddler, wheeeeeee~) so here's the next chapter early since I probably won't get the chance to post again until Wednesday/Thursday midnight-ish. Ta~!

**B** ARNES TRIED TO BACK OUT OF THE RECEPTION, citing his not being part of the team yet and having to get the Quinjet back to the helicarrier. Clint, who knew Tasha well enough to see the longing in her eyes that she tried to hide when looking at him, was having none of it.

"I'll fly it back up later," he said, firmly propelling the man out of the Quinjet.

"We're supposed to be getting one down here for mobilization in a crisis anyway," Tony added, turning at the end of the ramp to make sure everyone was off. "That's what I was talking to Fury about earlier. This one's on loan until our official customized Avengers Quinjet is finished."

"Customized?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. Tony smirked.

"Extra-wide seats in case the Big Guy's not ready to go by the time we are," he teased. Clint caught the alarmed look on Steve's face right before Barnes _elbowed_ him in the stomach with his left arm. He froze immediately after, looking conflicted, and Clint nudged his right shoulder.

"No excuses now!" he said cheerfully. "Come party with us so we can all get to know you."

"You might not like what you learn," Barnes said quietly, glancing uncertainly in Steve's direction. Tony grimaced, then got a dangerous glint in his eyes as his mouth stretched to a manic grin.

"Okay, show of hands, who here besides Barnes has been brainwashed or coerced by someone, enemy or otherwise?" he said, raising one hand. Clint followed suit, as did Natasha after a moment, and then so did Betty. Tony looked around. "Killed people, on orders or otherwise?" Betty's hand went down; Bruce, Phil, Steve and Darcy raised theirs. Tony looked at them, eyes tightening slightly at the sight of Darcy's hand up (Clint couldn't blame him; he hated thinking about that incident almost as much as Phil and Darcy did) but nodded shortly and looked at a stunned Barnes. "You're fine. Whatever you've done, whatever's been done _to_ you, someone here can relate."

"We aren't going to think any less of you for surviving and having the nightmares to show for it," Pepper spoke up gently, and Clint honestly could have kissed the woman for it. Barnes's shoulders slowly relaxed a little, so Clint caught Steve's eye, then Tasha's, and stepped away when the two approached to lead Barnes inside. That seemed to stir everyone else, and they all stepped away from the Quinjet and filed into the elevator. It was a tight fit with all of them, so of course it was a complete coincidence that Clint ended up chest to back against Tony.

Really. Coincidence.

The main room of the penthouse had been transformed in their absence to include a long table with tea sandwiches, a variety of danish and croissants, fruit salad, and a three-tiered wedding cake with--

"Are those _green fists_ decorating that cake?" Clint whispered to Tony, who cackled very quietly.

"Tony," Bruce said, his tone slightly long-suffering. Betty giggled quietly.

"Maybe we should all have breakfast before the cake," she suggested, resulting in several stomach growls and a blush from Steve. Tony spotted the blush at the same time Clint did and they both turned on him.

"Have you eaten anything today?" Tony asked, 'Dr Stark' very suddenly in the house.

"I ate two protein bars before we left," Steve said, blushing further. "Scouts honor?"

"You were never a scout," Barnes said, frowning at Steve in what Clint was pretty sure was concern mixed with confusion.

"My whole mental image of you suddenly has to be recreated from scratch," Tony drawled, shaking his head and pointing at the buffet. "Eat. That goes for everyone else with a heightened metabolism and/or a full day of meetings to cram into what's left of business hours!"

"Try not to smash cake in each other's faces before I get the wedding photos taken," Clint added to Bruce and Betty with a wink.

It was a near thing. They managed to get food into everyone without too much of a mess, and Clint retrieved the Nikon from where he'd stashed it the night before, taking several pictures of the wedding party against the backdrop of the New York skyline. Just as the camera clicked the last group picture, Natasha's phone chimed and she exchanged a look with Tony before excusing herself to go change. Pepper was next to excuse herself, kissing Tony on the cheek and phoning Happy to bring the car around in ten minutes as she disappeared into the guest room.

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to drift off. Phil, Darcy and Jane headed out by way of the elevator, Darcy giving Bruce and Betty both hugs and congratulations while Jane handed them a wrapped box and warned them not to open it on the plane to Malibu. Five minutes later saw Steve cautiously leading a lost-looking Barnes to the elevator. Tony stopped them and handed them both slices of cake and more pastries before shooing them off to Steve's apartment. Clint caught Tony's eye and indicated he was going to go pull the newest pictures before taking the behind the bar exit into the crawlspaces after wishing Bruce and Betty a good trip.

He was halfway down - approximately level with Steve and Thor's floor - when his phone jingled at him. Awkwardly maneuvering his hold on the camera bag versus his hold on the ladder, he pulled out his phone and looked at the message from Tony.

_Keep the camera. Natasha's new protégé could benefit from having a mentor in photography._

"What are you up to, Tony?" Clint muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Well, if Tasha didn't tell him herself, he'd get it out of Tony later. Tucking his phone away, he continued his descent, changing direction when he reached his and Tasha's floor.

He'd go to the lab when he knew which photos were good enough to make prints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Not entirely off-topic for this chapter, but I had a question about Tony's last line in chapter 33. I touch on the answer very briefly somewhere in this chapter, but if you want speculation for possible spoilers, [go over here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betty_Ross). Notice also that Tony very politely didn't ask for a show of hands on who'd been used as a lab rat by morally questionable people. ^_~


	35. Chapter 35

**N** ATALIE RUSHMAN DID NOT SWEAR. Natalie Rushman was polite, demure, and quietly competent at any and all office-related work put before her. Natalie Rushman could keep a cool head in a corporate crisis but, barring that one instance where Mr Stark had asked Mr Hogan to give her a boxing lesson and Natasha had decided to show off, Natalie Rushman was not expected to fight people with more than words and vicious legal action.

Staring across her desk at the nervous-looking brown-haired teenager in a second-hand button down and faded black slacks, Natalie Rushman wished fervently that Natasha Romanova was taking this interview. She quietly texted that to Mr Stark before turning her full attention on the internship applicant her boss had brought to her attention.

_"So long as he's not going to sell our secrets to Oscorp, hire him, I don't care where."_

"Mr Parker, wasn't it?" she said before the silence could stretch from 'uncertain' to 'unwelcoming'. "I'm Natalie Rushman, Ms Potts's personal assistant."

"It's Peter," the boy said automatically, then winced. "Sorry, um, pleased to meet you, Miss Rushman, I just don't understand. Why I'm meeting you, I mean."

Nor did _she_ , for the moment. A brief glance at the top page of the internship application indicated he'd been interested in a position in the smaller biochemistry department of SI before he'd been flagged by Mr Stark's filters and passed up the chain to her. Rather than say any of that, she offered him her most reassuring smile.

"Part of my current duties involves presiding over the interviews of applicants who, shall we say, come to the notice of my bosses for one reason or another," she said. At his suddenly tense look, she added gently, "It's not a bad thing, being noticed. I was in Legal before coming to the attention of Mr Stark and Ms Potts."

"But... why would anyone notice _me_?" the boy asked, bewildered. Natalie lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"I certainly don't claim to understand the mind of Mr Stark," she said wryly, politely ignoring the sudden widening of his eyes. Tapping one finger carefully on the application, she said thoughtfully, "Your education records are impressive enough for a high school student to be of note. And there's your internship last summer with Dr Connors..." Hm, there went that tension again. Interesting. "...and the notation here that you have a part-time job taking pictures for the Daily Bugle?"

"Y-yes," Peter stammered, hands flexing a little on his knees. He seemed about to say something, then visibly cut himself off. The boy needed to work on his poker face, that was for sure.

"Well," she said after a moment of staring him down. "We have a bit of a dilemma on our hands."

"Dilemma?" Peter repeated, looking worried and just a little heartbroken. Natasha mentally shook Natalie before she lost her focus.

"You're too intelligent to be shunted into the spot of a basic lab intern," she told him, once again tapping his application. "However," she added when he brightened slightly, "you're also only seventeen, which is too young for any higher-grade lab positions due to child endangerment laws and SI's firm stance on corporate responsibility."

"Oh," Peter muttered, looking down dejectedly, and started to stand. "I... I'm sorry for wasting your time, Miss Rushman...."

"Sit down, Mr Parker," _Natasha_ interrupted, startling him enough to look up at her, eyes wide again. Nodding slightly, Natalie smiled again. "While I can't ethically or legally offer you a position with the labs that's not an insult to your intelligence, I may have another solution. Breathe, Peter," she added. He let out the breath he was holding with a gasp, blushing fiercely.

Natasha refused to find it adorable.

"Due to certain, shall we say, unconventional additions to the science department of Stark Industries, we've had to take on an official in-house photographer for press conferences and interviews. For some reason, most outside photographers are skittish about being in the same room as Dr Banner," she said testingly. Peter sat bolt upright.

"Dr _Bruce_ Banner?" he gaped. "The leading expert on gamma radiation and thermonuclear physics?!" Natasha hid her pleasure behind Natalie's surprised smile.

"The same," she said. "He'll be flattered that you recognize his work." _As opposed to his condition,_ she didn't add. Peter flushed.

"I read his last four papers," he mumbled. "He's... _brilliant_."

"I'm glad you think so," Natalie said, "because I want to offer you an internship under our in-house photographer. Competent as Frank is, he can't be in two places at once."

"Really?" Peter gaped at her, before realizing what he was doing and swallowed. "You aren't doing this out of pity, are you?"

"Hardly," Natalie said dryly, an edge of Natasha showing around her smile. "Given your skill at taking pictures of 'Spider-Man' while he's in motion, I'm confident than you can do better when photographing the Avengers while they're standing still next week."

"Next _week_?" Peter yelped. "The _Avengers_?!"

"I'll arrange for you to meet with Frank sometime tomorrow, unless you've changed your mind?" she asked, hand hovering over her pen. Peter shook his head so hard that for a moment she wondered if it was going to fall off.

"No, no!" he gasped. "Er, I mean, no, I'm not changing my mind."

"Then I'll send the employment contract and the consent form for your guardian to sign by courier tomorrow morning," Natalie said, standing.

Peter stumbled to his feet as well and, in a burst of impulsiveness the Red Room hadn't managed to train out of her and Clint had always actively encouraged, Natasha offered her hand for him to shake. He wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his slacks and shook her hand, awkwardly but firmly. Meeting his eyes, Natasha _flexed_ , pressing the muscles of her fingers against his, and felt the telltale prickle of something brush against her hand from beneath his fingertips. Peter swallowed, pupils dilating and the color draining from his face slightly, but didn't look away. Natasha held his gaze for another long moment, then gently released his hand.

"We'll be in touch with you, Peter," Natalie murmured around Natasha's thoughtful smile before it slipped away again and she was only Natalie. Peter stammered something that was caught between gratitude and goodbye, and fled the office. Natalie sat down at her desk again and looked back down at the application form before reaching, not for the contract and consent forms, but for Natasha's phone.

_"Starting a collection, are we?"_ she sent off. Tony replied a moment later, as if he'd been expecting her text.

_"Fury started it. I'm just maintaining employee standards."_

Natasha hid a smirk. _"He's a little young."_

_"We were younger."_

_Point to you, Tony,_ Natasha thought with a fond smile. Switching over to send off a message to Clint about having found his most recent alias an apprentice, she started hunting down the appropriate contract and consent forms to send off after Peter Parker of Forrest Hills, Queens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a sidestory with Natasha interviewing Peter for the position of Pepper's new PA. Then I went and made Clint create an alias as SI's in-house photographer and...


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to everyone who caught the reference to Peter back in chapter 14! Yes, I've been planning this for that long. XD Now on to more Tony!plots explained.

**B** Y THE TIME HE MANAGED TO DRAG HIMSELF DOWN TO HIS LAB, Tony felt wrung out, strung out, and on his last legs. Text messages from Natasha aside - and that was certainly a weight off his mind and then abruptly back on again to know the kid was alright despite his regrettable choice of wearing unarmored _spandex_ \- he'd had to have a long talk with Bruce and Betty because Betty _did_ want Bruce to know what she'd been through while he was on the run and Bruce needed Tony's (astoundingly) calming presence to make it through the whole story without going green and bounding off to smash General Ross and the scientists at Advanced Idea Mechanics in ways that made what he did to Loki look like playful swats.

_"SHIELD actually has a dossier on AIM, just so you know. It's how we knew where to find you when it became obvious we needed to. I'm... I'm sorry we didn't come for you sooner."_

_"It's fine, Tony. Well, it's not_ fine, _obviously, but I don't... I'm glad you and Pepper got me out at all before it went any further. Some of the scientists were talking about putting wings on me."_

_"You would have looked like an angel,"_

_"Oh, Bruce... I do want Tony to do a medical work-up on me, to... make sure they didn't mess with_ everything _inside me."_

_"Tomorrow. JARVIS did a base scan the moment you entered the Tower, so there's nothing stopping you two from at least enjoying your wedding night."_

_"The Other Guy--"_

_"Can't and won't hurt me, Bruce. I promise. I'll--_ we'll _be okay."_

_"And if you're worried about possibly biohazardous materials, I'm pretty sure there are condoms around somewhere!"_

_"Tony--"_

_"Good idea. I think we could both stand to unwind a bit, don't you, dear?"_

_"Okay, that's my cue to vanish, bye-bye now!"_

The doors to the lab were opaque, Tony registered, just before they slid open onto a half-lit room. Everything was still in its place that he could see, but the lights had been lowered and there was the smell of something warm and creamy and vaguely like potato and bacon... and then there was Clint, having swapped his tricked out Hawkeye suit for a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, and drawing him carefully inside and over to a corner of the lab where Tony remembered there being that old and beat-up couch that used to be in his and Rhodey's off-campus apartment, but he didn't remember there being that low table in front of it, or those bowls of what looked like some kind of chowder. "Soup?"

"Baked potato soup," Clint confirmed. Tony blinked at him, and Clint grinned slightly. "Lumpy mashed potatoes, sour cream, and crumbled bacon topped with shredded cheddar."

"Sounds good," Tony managed to murmur coherently. It did sound good, really good, but the caffeine was leaving his system and reminding him that with everything he'd had to do and arrange to get the wedding arranged so quickly he hadn't actually slept at all last night, and there were those two days of building Barnes's arm and dropping it off before coming back to prepare for the interview and having to tell Steve Barnes was alive and _that_ whole mess....

Clint must have read something in his face (and that thought might have terrified Tony if it was anyone else but Clint and he wasn't so damn tired) because he shook his head slightly and pulled Tony over to the couch, dropping down to sit on the worn cushions and tugging Tony down next to him. There was a moment where neither of them was sure what to do with their arms, but then Clint shifted, tucking one leg up underneath him, and pulled Tony back to lean against his chest, and, yeah, okay, that worked.

"Sorry..." Tony mumbled, turning his head and trying to shift his head under Clint's chin, but they weren't that dissimilar in height and build, so he ended up with his face buried in Clint's neck.

"It's okay," came the quiet response, a world of understanding and reassurance that Tony was amazed all over again how Clint seemed to know and tell him so much without actually saying much at all, like they were inside each other's heads without it being creepy and invasive the way Charles had been that time.... "Charles?"

"Xavier," Tony mumbled. "Telepath. Fucking annoying about it sometimes. How..."

"You babble more when you're exhausted," Clint said near Tony's ear. "It's cute."

"Hey now," Tony complained, but couldn't really work up the energy to do more that shift closer against Clint. He was not cuddling. He wasn't.

"Tony," came the patient response. "You need to eat before you sleep. What was that you said this morning about people with heightened metabolisms?"

"Doesn't count," Tony grumbled. "Only kicks in when I'm injured or sick. Comfy." He did, however, reluctantly sit up and reach for the bowl. Clint slid one arm around his waist as he moved, which made up for the loss of that earlier warmth.

The warmth of the soup helped, too. It was thick and just as creamy as it had smelled, with a faint bite of sharp cheddar and sour cream under the buttery potato and almost sweet applewood bacon. No chives, Tony noticed, and wondered if that was because Clint didn't like them or because he knew Tony usually preferred green onions to chives. The soup spread warmth through him going down and then sat heavy in his stomach until he couldn't eat any more and set the bowl back on the table. Clint immediately drew him back against his chest again, which Tony was more than okay with.

"Feels like I ought to cook you breakfast," he mumbled, curling into Clint again. The other man stilled for half a breath, during which Tony's chest _ached_ , and then relaxed again and tugged Tony just a bit closer.

"No hurry," he said, the air behind the words ruffling Tony's hair slightly. "It can wait until we're both ready for it."

And that was really all that needed to be said, wasn't it? Clint understood Tony's reluctance to engage in _sexual_ intimacy because, in a way that was completely opposite how he'd felt before Afghanistan, sex was linked to a vulnerability that Tony couldn't handle yet, the way he had locked himself away from emotional intimacy after Whitney broke his heart so hard it had taken _years_ for him to piece it together enough to love Pepper, never mind getting up the courage to admit it.

He honestly hoped it wouldn't take years with Clint, but part of knowing why and how Clint understood was in Tony's knowing and understanding too. He might act okay around the others, might even tell Tony that he was okay with the reminders that he'd been... unmade... but what Loki had done, reaching inside of Clint's head and _twisting_ until his loyalties were backwards (and that was just what Clint himself had admitted to him), well, that wasn't something you just get over. If Clint needed time to feel comfortable with that, Tony was more than happy to give him that time.

Although....

"Is it sunny yet?" he mumbled, not quite falling asleep, but close. Clint's chest shook slightly beneath him in a silent chuckle, and then bow-callused fingers were brushing the line of his stubble-roughened jaw and lifting his chin slightly.

"No clouds for now," Clint whispered softly. Their lips met, a brush, and faint caress, and then again in a slow slide. The heat that had surged through Tony with that first kiss two days ago was still there, but banked like a steady warmth of glowing coals rather than licking at him with insistent flames, and Tony let himself sink into that warmth, wrapping it around himself and letting it soothe the rough edges and cold twinges in him even as he slid one arm around Clint to try and give some of that warmth back.

Softly, they parted, moving only far enough back to breathe, and Tony's eyes slid closed again. "Clint...."

"Yeah," Clint whispered, voice low and roughened by some deep-seated emotion Tony wasn't ready to name and didn't think Clint was ready to acknowledge either. Instead, he lay his head back down on Clint's shoulder, face turned into his neck, and hummed a wordless assent. Clint's arms tightened slightly in response, and Tony fell asleep between one pulse against the reactor and the next. 

When he dreamed, he dreamed of sun, and didn't feel the burning bite of sand.


	37. Chapter 37

**C** ONTRARY TO WHAT THE SCUTTLEBUTT AMONGST JUNIOR AGENTS PROBABLY WAS, bringing the Winter Soldier, also known as James Buchanan Barns, in from the cold was not a herculean effort for the entire two weeks that newly-resurrected Agent Coulson had been "absent" from SHIELD medical. He'd been coming back to himself already when his mission was interrupted and he found himself squaring off against a man in a suit who looked like some pencil-pusher and fought like a seasoned combat specialist.

Yasha had clipped him across the cheekbone with his left hand, and then gone still as he watched the shallow cut heal over in minutes. The man hadn't made any attempt to attack him while he was distracted, either, and when all that was left of the cut was a smear of blood across his cheek beneath a faint pink line, he'd met Yasha's eyes and smiled slightly, offering a hand.

_"Sergeant James Barnes, I presume?"_

It had taken two weeks to shake the rest of the conditioning and whatever shit that made it hard to think of anything but the mission, during which Agent Coulson of SHIELD had stayed with him, explaining what he could, riding out Yasha's pain and confusion and then doing the same with Bucky's agonizing self-disgust and shame.

_"Why are you doing this?"_ he'd asked once. _"Why come after me and help me like this?" Why don't you just kill me?_

_"I don't know if you remember her yet,"_ came the placid answer, _"but after my 'stint as a lab rat', as one of my more aggravating charges would call it, Agent Margaret Carter had a hand in getting me back on my feet and feeling human again."_

_"Agent Ma-- Peggy Carter? Steve's dame Peggy, the one he said helped get him behind the lines to pull me and the 107th out, the one who shot at him? That Peggy?"_

_"She always had the best stories about you both. To be honest, I'm a bit of a fan."_

_"Of 'Captain America'."_

_"Of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes,"_ Coulson had corrected, smiling a little. _"Agent Carter always emphasized that you were - _are_ \- people. I never forgot that, no matter what my coworkers might think about my keeping the trading cards."_

That the two had returned rather battered, Coulson with broken ribs and a knife wound across his thigh and Bucky with a broken ankle and a badly mangled prosthetic arm, was actually not Bucky's fault, either, or so Coulson had told him while he was stitching the wound up. The Winter Soldier was a valuable resource to whoever had defrosted him _this_ time, and had probably known that the conditioning would break down based on past reports, though lucky for Bucky they'd overestimated how long before it happened.

It had taken several hours of arguing with Bucky in handcuffs and leg shackles before the agents who picked them up were willing to believe that, though. Even after that, there'd been shrinks and medics who poked and prodded at him until he was nearly ready to fake a relapse and get himself locked up again so they'd fucking _stop_... And suddenly there was a man who looked like Howard Stark being sarcastic at him and shooing out the armed guard like he was a naughty student, taking measurements of his good arm and the port around his shoulder, and completely unafraid of him the same way Coulson wasn't afraid.

_"I'm pretty sure I'm the last person your buddy Rogers wants you to meet, but since I'm the best SHIELD's got for replacing that arm of yours he'll just have to deal. Preferably while I'm on the other side of the country."_

_"Still thinks he's just that shrimpy kid from Brooklyn, doesn't he? Never backing down from a fight..."_

_"Worse. He gets all disapproving and it's like I'm back to being the constantly disappointing kid... never mind, perception of events is always weird, ignore me."_

_"Why? You might look like Howard, but you sure don't act like him, and I kinda think I like you better anyway."_

_"Nicest thing someone who knew my Dad's ever said to me,"_ Tony had told him, looking both touched and uncomfortable, like expressing feelings would give him a rash. Bucky didn't call him on it, and Tony didn't say anything when, the day he brought in the new arm with its metallic blue paint and the white star where the old arm used to have red, Bucky suddenly developed allergies that caused leaky eyes and a tight throat.

Sitting awkwardly in the living room of Steve's apartment, Bucky almost wished he was back in SHIELD medical talking to Tony instead of watching the man who'd been his best friend since they were snot-nosed punks living across the hall from each other back in Brooklyn completely fail at trying to talk to him.

"Sooo," Bucky drawled as Steve made yet another aborted attempt to speak. "Some future, huh?"

Okay, so he wasn't quite sure what to say to Steve, either.

"God, Bucky, I'm so sorry!" Steve blurted out, slumping where he was perched on the couch and burying his head in his hands. This, at least, was expected, if not familiar, because Bucky was warned about the possibility of this happening by both Coulson and Tony.

_"He blames himself for your death,"_ Coulson had said in that run-down safe house in Stalingrad.

_"You probably know better than I do about how much Steve likes to take himself on a guilt trip,"_ Tony had warned him as he'd fitted the new arm carefully into place. _"However much he looks like someone killed a puppy in front of him when he's read whatever new piece of my file he's been handed... if you don't set him straight about it, he'll convince himself that everything that happened to you from falling off that train onwards is directly his fault."_

"Hey," Bucky said, starting to reach for Steve and then switching to his flesh and blood right hand instead. "Steve, come on. You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"I should have looked for you," Steve said, shaking his head. "I should have--"

"You thought I was dead," Bucky pointed out, quite reasonably he thought.

"But you weren't!" Steve protested, looking up from his hands with anguished eyes.

"Steve... I kind of _was_ ," Bucky said slowly. "The people who thawed me out, the Russians? They did their level best to kill 'James Barnes', and every time I tried to claw my way back to the surface they'd bury me again. You thought I was dead, given that fall--" He broke off and grit his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep, slow breath and let it out again. Carefully, he said, "And then _you_ were dead, and half the time I couldn't remember who you were. Do you blame me for that?"

"God, Buck, of course not!" Steve said, eyes wide and earnest, and then ducked his head sheepishly when Bucky pinned him with a very pointed look.

"Look, I'm not expecting you to just accept that you aren't to blame and move on," Bucky said, smirking slightly. "I know better than to expect miracles like that."

"Hey!" Steve pouted, but his mouth was twitching the way it used to when he was trying and failing not to smile. "I've gotten pretty good at miracles lately, you know."

"What, come back from the dead to fight honest to fuck aliens and Norse gods and people suddenly think you can walk on water?" Bucky teased. Steve flushed.

"One of them's a team mate," he muttered. Bucky blinked.

"No shit," he said. "Which one?"

"Thor," Steve said, flashing a half-smile. "Jane - Dr Foster, I mean - she's been working on rebuilding the bifrost... the thing that lets him travel from Asgard to here and back."

"Bet that'll be something to see," Bucky offered. It honestly sounded like something he halfway remembered from being held captive by HYDRA over a lifetime ago, but he didn't want to say that and bring the mood back down. From the way Steve's shoulders dropped it must have come through anyway, and Bucky could have kicked himself for it.

"It's just... I spent those first months out of the ice looking around and being blindsided by thinking what you'd say about this thing or that thing, and then suddenly you're here and _alive_ and I just..." he trailed off, hands fluttering as if to gesture at something that didn't exist, the way he would when he was trying to describe the colors in his head to an artistically ignorant Bucky.

"Taking yourself for a guilt trip?" Bucky suggested. Steve blinked at him in surprise and Bucky shrugged his good shoulder. "Something Tony said."

"...I haven't been very fair to him," Steve admitted, looking down.

"He's really not that much like Howard," Bucky started, only to be interrupted.

"I know!" Steve burst out, surging to his feet and pacing like a caged animal, and for a moment it was so familiar that Bucky was half out of his seat to pull Steve back down before he remembered that Steve didn't get asthma attacks from getting worked up like that anymore.

Steve barely noticed in his pacing, and Bucky settled back into the couch cushions to wait it out. It wasn't long in coming.

"I read his file - what I thought was his file - before I actually met him," Steve said finally, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face. "It... wasn't complimentary. And then I met him and he was such a show-off in that flashy armor...!" He made a sound of frustration and turned again, pacing the length of the coffee table. "And then we're on the helicarrier and he's not wearing the armor but he's all polished in a suit and looks _so much_ like Howard until he opened his mouth and he sounded like _you_!"

"What, really?" Bucky raised both eyebrows. "Like me?"

"Your sarcasm, your devil may care smirk, your poking and prodding coming from a man with Howard's face and a supposed official file that reads like some rich delinquent punk's police record, and I just...!" Steve slowed and stopped, hands lowering to his sides. Lowly, tightly, he admitted, "I missed you and you weren't there, and I kept trying to find Howard in him while all the time he reminded me so much of you that I wanted to hit him for not being you."

"...You're right. That is unfair," Bucky said at length. Steve flinched, but smiled, so Bucky pressed forward. "And now? You've been reading his real file, right?"

"Did he tell you that?" Steve asked tiredly, but nodded and sat back down on the couch heavily. "I just... He's barely willing to be in the same room with me, and it's my fault, but I don't know how to fix it."

"Well, you could always try alcohol," Bucky started, but Steve shook his head.

"Apparently he doesn't drink," Steve said, surprising Bucky.

"But that bar," he started.

"For show and guests."

"That fancy cut glass bottle with the stopper?"

"Full of tea."

"Looks lighter than tea."

"Some new kind called 'rooibos'."

"Huh," Bucky said thoughtfully. He thought about the few times he'd met Howard during the war, usually at a bar when they weren't in whatever workshop he was holed up in. He thought about how the man he'd met and briefly known might have taken Steve's supposed death. He thought about the cut-off sentences that Tony had let slip before trying to change the subject. He thought about the half-sad, half-fond look on Coulson's face whenever he talked about 'one of my charges'. And then he glanced down at his arm - his left arm with its dark blue paint and hidden white star, and remembered what Steve had begun his rant with. "He has a suit of armor?"

"All mechanical," Steve nodded. "It's red and gold."

"Flashy," Bucky murmured, while thinking, _Bold. Confident. Show a strong face so your enemies don't see you shaking._ "Is it just the armor?"

"No, he built weapons into it. And something that acts like rockets that lets him fly."

"Damn," Bucky breathed, eyes wide. "I take it back, he's allowed to be flashy."

When he looked over, Steve was sneaking a look down at his left arm. He flushed when Bucky caught him. "Did he...?"

"Build it? Yeah," Bucky nodded. "Put weapons in it? No, not yet. SHIELD doesn't trust me not to go crazy and kill you all yet." Steve looked pained, and Bucky tried a crooked grin. "Hey, I'm not promising I won't. Just, all things considered, if they want to be wary for a while I can handle being benched for a season. Might give me a chance to work things out with Talia-- Natasha," he corrected himself.

"Tony said you two had a history," Steve hedged, frowning slightly. "Is that going to cause a problem between you? Or between you and Clint?"

"Clint... Agent Barton? Bow and arrow guy with the bitchy ex-wife?"

"I think he and Agent Romanova are together," Steve confessed. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

"I think you have a few screws loose," he deadpanned, but shook his head. He could be wrong about what he'd seen earlier, but he wasn't going to say so in case mentioning it might cause a lot of serious problems like it would've back in the 40s. "Though speaking of screws, I couldn't help but notice the star-spangled sash on that Lewis dame's dress...."

Steve blushed bright red, stammering protests and half-intelligible explanations, and Bucky grinned. They weren't quite there yet, but it was only a matter of time now. They'd be fine.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. I started working on the [Anywhere](http://archiveofourown.org/series/31589) series, and then had a couple of health complications. The next chapter may be a little late as well, and you have my apologies in advance.

**D** ARCY ABIGALE LEWIS COULSON WAS VERY GOOD AT SECRETS, both learning them and keeping them. One had to be if one worked "under the table" for one's father's secret kickass government agency from age twelve. She wasn't agent material by any means, but that was more to do with her temperment than her actual qualifications; being afraid of heights was a bit of a drawback for someone who could be assigned to work on a flying battleship, no matter what Hill thought she knew about "emersion therapy" and "you hardly notice the altitude".

Like hell; thank Thor that Natasha had been standing next to her to help keep her grounded during the wedding or she would have passed out. Clint understood that about her, too, and helped run interference when he could, just as she could run interference when someone brought up something that got too close to any still raw wounds of his that she knew about.

So when her "bro" of sixteen years started hanging around the lab of Anthony Edward Stark, dragging him out for lunch or, occasionally, bringing lunch to him and staying to eat with him? She noticed. Admittedly, it had taken her longer than it might have otherwise because she was distracted with cramming seventy years' worth of world events and notable pop culture into digestible chunks for Steve to swallow and more than a little flattered by the way he seemed appreciative of her dark hair, curves, and saucy attitude.

Not that anything would ever come of _that_ , all flirting and teasing her Dad aside. Grandma Peggy would have had a few choice things to say about her "getting frisky" with the man whose genetic material made up a quarter of her own DNA sequence. From her subtle probing, she'd realized that Steve had no idea his "required genetic samples" had been used to create a child after his plane went down, or that his biological daughter, Sharon Carter Lewis, was married with a daughter of her own. Darcy had no idea what Uncle Nick was thinking, keeping it from him, but she wasn't about to say anything that might break the poor man's brain while he was still adjusting to the new century, doubly so now that "great uncle Bucky" was back.

Darcy sighed and settled back on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. She was getting off-track in her own head, how messed up was that? Probably not quite as messed up as Tony, but that just brought her back to her point. She'd seen how Clint gravitated towards the man, and while she didn't know Tony nearly as well as she knew Clint, she could see him gravitating right back. Learning that her father had given Clint's file to Tony to read before everything went down made pieces slot into place, and more pieces fell in when JARVIS had passed along Clint's admission to having read _Tony's_ file before moving in.

Sighing, she fished her phone out of her pocket and fired off a text. Might as well do what she did best when confronted by a secret she didn't know what to do with. Hitting send, she dropped her phone back on the bed beside her and folded her arms behind her head to wait.

_Deet deedle-deedle-deedle deet deet deet!_

Both of Darcy's eyebrows rose as her eyes tracked sharply to the vent in her room to the left of the door. "'Men In Tights'? _Really_?"

"Tony's fault," came the muffled and slightly resigned response before the grate slid up and away and Clint dropped down into her room. "I don't know how or when, but it's either him or Tasha, and the last time Tasha messed with my phone she reset my phone to play 'The Immigrant's Song' whenever she calls me."

"And you haven't hacked his phone to get back at him yet, why?" Darcy asked, smirking at him.

"Besides the fact that JARVIS would totally go Skynet on my ass if I tried?" Clint said, then added, "No offense, JARVIS."

"None taken, Agent Barton," JARVIS replied placidly. Darcy blinked. The AI sounded almost _fond_ of Clint, which, if she thought about it, just supported her current working theory.

"So... you and Tony?" she asked, eyes sharp on him. He tensed, as expected, then relaxed slightly, also expected. What she didn't expect was the slightly sheepish, slightly shy smile that tugged at his mouth. "Oh...."

"Oh?" he asked, glancing at the end of her bed. She waved him down even as she sat up to peer more closely at his face, his eyes, that smile that he wasn't quite managing to hide....

"...You've got a bit of beard burn on your neck," she said after a moment. Clint actually _blushed_ at that.

"Tony fell asleep after lunch," he muttered.

"On your neck?" Darcy asked dubiously.

"On the couch, with his face against my neck," Clint admitted. Darcy blinked. Thought about it. Offered him a fist. Clint snorted, but bumped it back. "Clothes stayed on, Darce. Neither of us are in the right head space for that yet."

"Progress is progress," Darcy insisted. "Besides, keeping track of _your_ love life is a lot less depressing than the deadlock _mine_ is. Emphasis on _dead_."

"Aw, kiddo..." Clint scooted forward and hugged her, and she leaned into him.

"Jane keeps giving me time off to 'go take Steve out somewhere'," she muttered tiredly. "When the hell do we get to tell him I'm his granddaughter, anyway?"

"As soon as Phil gets the all-clear from Fury and Sharon can get time off from the symphony to fly out to New York," Clint said. "Promise, Darce, you won't have to sit on that secret for too much longer."

"...But you want me to sit on the 'you and Tony' thing, right?" Darcy asked, glancing up at him.

"I... maybe?" Clint said, looking pensive. "It's not like we're actively keeping it a secret... I mean, I don't think we are, but he did just break it off with Pepper a week ago."

"Week and a half," Darcy said, smiling slightly. "Seems like longer, huh?"

"A lot's been happening," Clint agreed.

"Yeah," Darcy said, closing her eyes. "I just wanted to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing so I can try to head off Steve's little crush on Tony."

"...Steve's little _what_ , now?"


	39. Chapter 39

**I** T WAS ELEVEN MINUTES PAST THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING BY THE RED NUMBERS GLOWING FROM HER BEDSIDE TABLE, and Natasha couldn't sleep. Her room was dark, but not so dark that she would mistake it for a cell upon waking if her sleep brought fragmented remembrances to haunt her. Her StarkPhone and StarkPad both lay dark and dormant beside the clock, all the appointments, events, and meetings needing her attention scheduled, filed, and settled. She'd felt Clint pass by more than an hour ago and had whispered goodnight, answered only by three soft taps to her grate. There was no emergency, no call to arms, not even a bird outside her window to break the peaceful stillness, and yet her body thrummed with energy. If she were anyone else other than herself, she would have been pacing by now.

She knew why her mind would not quiet itself tonight to allow her body rest. She hadn't been able to sleep the night before, either, but then she'd had something to do, a mission (wedding) to prepare for in the wee hours before dawn, things to see to, people to talk to and about, so much to distract her mind away from--

_Him._

Phil had tracked her down at Stark Industries after the interview, intercepting her on her way out of Pepper's office and back to the Tower, to brief her on the newest situation that had turned out not to be as new as all that. She'd sat there, outwardly calm and inwardly screaming, as Phil explained how they'd gotten a tip, facial recognition hitting on Loki moments before it hit on someone else, how his "death" (though he had apparently experienced heart-death if not brain-death) had been used to hide his departure from the World Security Council just in case one or more of them was responsible for _his_ awakening, and had gone to fetch the Winter Soldier.

Her Yasha, who was apparently Steve's Bucky and not really hers, and yet Phil claimed he remembered _everything_ the way, even now, Natasha couldn't always pull up more than fragments from her repeatedly broken and overwritten memory.

_"Be sly and clever, my Talia. They will steal your soul away and pour ice inside your heart if they can find it, so do not let them. Keep your heart safe, always."_

She swallowed. She couldn't remember how old she was when he said that to her, or where they had been. The mission was no more than a training exercise, but she could no longer remember which one, only his warm brown eyes above a weary but achingly tender smile for her and the chill of his metal fingers against her cheek.

_"Love is for children, Widow. Forge yourself as the blade and cut it out."_

Yasha's throat was cut in front of her, brown eyes blazing black hate, not at her but at the man who gripped her shoulder, the man who had ordered it be done. Behind the blank mask of a face she wore, she vowed that if love was for children then she would lock her love for Yasha within his Talia's heart and the Black Widow would never let anyone touch it again.

_"Director Fury wants Barnes in the Avengers, but he won't push it if you don't think you can work with him."_

Of course she could work with him. She had before, many times, and if he remembered that then no doubt he could work with her, too. She'd said as much to Phil, expression calm and fixed as any warning signal, and he hadn't pressed her, and she'd buried the thought behind a flood of activity until that moment in the helicarrier when he'd stepped from the Quinjet to meet them.

_"Yasha...."_

_"Talia."_

She'd sat beside Clint, held her calm around her like armor, and made herself interact with Yasha-- _James_ as much as he initiated and she could stand, and had gratefully fled when she was alerted to the approaching appointments at SI.

...And now, there was nothing to hide behind.

_Fuck this,_ she thought savagely. Lying in bed was getting her nowhere. Tossing aside the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she said, "JARVIS, who all is awake now?"

"At present, you and Sir are the only residents of the Tower who are awake, Agent Romanova," came the polite response. Natasha hesitated, then pressed her lips together and forced herself up.

"I hope Tony's ready for a visitor," she said grimly, lifting and donning the burgundy silk dressing gown that had been in her suite when she moved in. It wasn't ideal, but she _was_ making an effort to treat the man as a team mate and... friend... when and where she could. Tony wasn't her first choice for baring her well-hidden soul to, but right now he was it.

_Let's hope Clint's trust in him is not misplaced,_ she thought as she retrieved the robe's sash from her uniform and tied it around her waist. "Lab, JARVIS?"

"Indeed, Agent Romanova," JARVIS replied. Natasha smirked at the undercurrent of 'where else?' that came through the otherwise bland reply.

"Thank you," she said, nodding politely to the camera in her living room, and headed for the door.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone, I have to take a break for a week due to the Holiday Crush, so this is the last chapter until the 28th. Happy Chanukah, Happy Kwanza, Merry Solstice, Happy Christmas, Good Festivus, and whatever other holidays you celebrate this season! ^_^

**T** ONY HAD KNOWN THAT TAKING A NAP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY, especially after eating a heavy meal, was going to throw him off later. He'd known it was a bad idea to eat, known he should get up and get himself more coffee to stave off the exhaustion a little longer instead of pressing himself close against Clint's side and letting his eyes slide shut. He'd known it, and done it anyway, and now he was paying for it with being sleepless at zero-dark-thirty.

He hadn't wanted to bother anyone with what he knew would be very inconvenient insomnia, so he'd come down to the lab after dinner to tinker with the duraflex fabric design for the new body armor. So far he'd been treating it like a trifilament wire with a standard over-under weave like most fabrics, but if he treated it more like a knit than a weave, or possibly a polyfilament mesh...

"Sir," JARVIS spoke up, breaking his concentration. "Agent Romanova is requesting entry."

"Does she know what time it is?" Tony asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair absently.

"Indeed, Sir," JARVIS responded. Tony sighed.

"Fine, let her in," he said, setting down the tablet and turning to face the opening doors.

Immediately, he turned around again. "Damn it, JARVIS, you might have warned me!" To Natasha, he said, "That robe's supposed to be worn over a nightgown or pajamas or something."

"I don't wear either," Natasha said from behind him in a tone that made Tony wonder if she meant 'I don't _have_ either.' "Too much delay to change out of if we're attacked in the night."

"If we're attacked in the night, you'll know well before whoever it is reaches the walls," he shot back. Her hand came down on his shoulder and he tensed, but forced himself not to react beyond that.

"Would it help if I admit I'm wearing panties under it?" she asked, her tone dry, hand surprisingly gentle. Tony blinked. Thought about it.

"Actually, yes," he said, a little surprised at himself. A moment more of thought brought him the tentative answer that wearing underwear made the situation no less intimate, but somehow much less potentially sexual. Sex might be a big, glaring warning light of 'NO!' but he was learning how to handle intimacy with people he trusted (or was supposed to trust).

How 'bout that.

"So," he said after a moment of steadily more uncomfortable silence. "What brings you to my parlour so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," Natasha admitted reluctantly, releasing his shoulder. He turned and gestured for her to take a seat anywhere she liked, given he was already in the nearest actual chair. She perched on the edge of the table, legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles, and he sternly ordered his eyes to stay above shoulder level.

"Well, can't say I don't know the feeling," he said, a touch wryly. When she looked down, he straightened a little. "You gotta help me out, here, Natasha. I'm used to dealing with Pepper and Rhodey, not--"

"How do you do it?" she interrupted him. He snapped his still open mouth shut and she looked up at him, face blank and eyes so _lost_ it was a little frightening. He swallowed, thoughts racing until he found a likely path.

"You've heard the protocols," he said lowly. She nodded. "Read my file yet?" She shook her head.

"I was waiting for permission," she said, stunning him.

"Wow, okay... permission granted, but, yeah," he floundered a little, trying to decide the best way to tackle this. "For the purposes of this conversation--" _Which I can't really believe you are wanting to have with me of all people._ "--six months before those protocols JARVIS quoted for you were enacted, I met a woman named Whitney Frost. I was young, inexperienced, still not really aware of growing out of the awkward teen years, and she... acted like she liked me. Nearly took everything I had, too, my heart, my virginity, almost took the company except I found her out before she could." _The day I was going to propose to her._

"You were still a virgin at twenty-one?" Natasha asked. Tony couldn't help the instinctive bristle at the question until she looked up at him with such a weak smile... She could have been playing him, he knew, he'd seen the way she'd worked over Loki, but he let himself be soothed by her display of vulnerability anyway.

"Awkward teen years," he reminded her. "They were very, very awkward." She nodded slightly, glancing away and then back. He snorted softly, leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on a point above her shoulder. "It's not easy to open your heart again when people you love keep trying to rip it out. Literally, sometimes," he added, tapping the glowing blue barely visible beneath the threadbare MIT sweatshirt.

"Love is for--"

" _Everyone_ , Natalia," he said intently, locking his eyes on hers. He saw her stiffen at the use of her old name, saw her eyes flash with a mixture of emotions that never made it onto the rest of her face, and pressed. "Children, adults, seniors, and everyone in between. All the hard knocks and heartaches... it's all worth it to find the person or persons who'll look at you and see someone they want to lift up instead of someone to tear down."

"You really believe that?" Natasha asked quietly, tensely. Tony met her gaze calmly.

"I have to," he said, tapping the reactor through his shirt again. "Otherwise, why do I keep trying to stay alive?"

"You gave up once," she pointed out, but he could hear the doubt hovering under her words.

"Yeah, I'll admit that was a bad week," he said, mouth twisting in a parody of his usual Sarcastic Grin #7. "Promise, I'm not nearly as fatalistic when my brain's not being scrambled by decomposing transition metals."

She was watching him closely. There was a question hovering there - what was potentially scrambling his brain _now_ if not palladium? - but she held it back and he didn't volunteer the answer. "Does it ever get easier?" she asked at length.

"I don't know yet," Tony admitted, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "It was hard enough admitting I love Pepper, and just as hard admitting we aren't _in_ love." She blinked at him, clearly startled, and he wondered if anyone had bothered to teach her the variances of love beyond whoever had clearly drummed that "love is for children" mantra into her.

"I don't know if I can," she whispered.

"Do you trust Clint?" Tony asked carefully, gently. "Or Phil? Do you enjoy their company, care when they're hurt, worry for them when they're in danger that pushes the limits you know they can handle?"

"Oh," Natasha said, eyes widening slightly. "That's..."

"Love," Tony finished, nodding. "Love for your friends, for the family you've made for yourself." He cracked a smile, small but at least real instead of scripted. "I'm told any kind of healthy relationship has a basis in friendship, so if you can feel _that_ you're at least halfway there."

"It's... different," she murmured, glancing down at her feet. Tony resolutely did not do the same.

"If it helps," he said, aware that he was now treading on very thin ice, "Barnes asked about you both times I saw him for his arm. Wanted to know that you were okay." _I'd stake my reactor on him wanting to lift you up._

Natasha jerked slightly, then chuckled, very lowly, shaking her head. "You and tact, маленький брат," she said wryly.

"Dump stat, старшая сестра," he reminded her, winking. She laughed then, a strained sound that looked like it didn't feel at home coming from her throat, and he realized that it was because it was _real_. She wasn't playing a role, wasn't faking her amusement... it was a staggering realization.

"Thank you, Tony. For the talk," she said when her laughter quieted, straightening up from the table and stretching. Fucking hell, he wasn't a saint, damn it! "For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't die."

"Coming from you?" he asked, inclining his head. "It's worth a lot, Lachesis."

She looked surprised. Tony wondered why for a moment before he realized that it was the first time he'd called her a nickname that wasn't in Russian. Before he could apologize or take it back, she smiled a little, shyly.

"The weaver of Fate?" she asked. He nodded, and she nodded back. "I can live with that. Good night, целитель механик."

"Good night," he said to her retreating back. The doors slid shut behind her and Tony leaned back in his chair, tilting his head up to the ceiling. "JARVIS? Did that really just happen?"

"My records would indicate that it did, Sir," JARVIS answered. Tony sighed and nodded, swiping both hands down his face.

"That's it for tonight," he decided. He took the time to save and close all the open projects to shut down the lab for the night. If _his_ Fate was kind, he'd fall asleep after taking his second cold shower of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> маленький брат - little brother
> 
> старшая сестра - older sister
> 
> целитель механик - healer mechanic
> 
> Just in case you'd forgotten from earlier chapters.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaa~ck! Of course, while I was gone I ended up having way too much time on my hands and ended up filling a few more prompts and starting a couple other universes, and... yeah. ^^ Updates may slow down from previous rapid posting as I work on the others, but I promise I will keep updating.

**C** LINT HAD BEEN A LITTLE DUBIOUS WHEN NATASHA, in full Stark Industries slash Avengers liaison mode, had first informed him that "Frank Barksdale" was going to get an intern. He'd kept that doubt to himself, remembering Tony texting him to keep the camera, and let Tasha set up a meeting at Stark Industries' New York headquarters for Thursday morning. Dressed up as "Frank" and carrying the Nikon in its case with the strap slung crosswise across his chest and his dummy laptop (the one used for his more computer-savvy covers) tucked into a backpack, he left the Tower at half-past ten and walked the six blocks to the SI building.

At fourteen minutes after eleven, the glass doors to SI's lobby swung open to admit a slightly ruffled teenager with brown hair sticking out haphazardly from beneath a bicycle helmet that looked like it had seen better days before it had even come into the kid's possession. Clint surveyed him from behind Frank's glasses critically, noting the worn jeans, ragged trainers, and over-sized t-shirt as well as the threadbare backpack, and then disappeared behind Frank's easy smile as he stood.

"You Parker?" he asked the kid, who jerked and then nodded, still a bit out of breath. "Frank Barksdale. Call me Frank," he added, sticking out a hand. The kid took it a little awkwardly, but his grip was firm and callused in... odd places. Not like weapons use or standard hard work, but like he repeatedly hit the heels of his hands on brick or concrete.

_"...Natasha's new protégé..."_

"It's Peter," the kid finally managed to get out. "Sorry I'm late--"

"It's fine, we're not on a timetable today," Frank said, waving off the apology. Then he frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Did you actually bike here from Queens? You know we could've sent a car to pick you up. Your bike outside?"

"Uh--" Peter said, blinking at him, clearly not sure what to answer first, if at all.

"Let's go get it under cover," Frank said, turning him by the shoulder and propelling him back towards the door. "This ain't Hell's Kitchen, but it's still New York."

The kid's bike looked even more beaten up than the helmet, if that was possible, as well as like it had been wrapped around a tree once in its distant past. Peter looked awkward and defensive, so Frank didn't say anything, just motioned for him to grab it and wheel it after him. Saying a mental thank you to Tony, Frank flashed his SI ID badge at the guard to the parking garage and introduced Peter.

"We'll get you an access pass so you can just bring your bike down here directly from now on," he said, pointing out the grating for bicycles with three others already chained to it. Watching Peter settle the bike in and unbuckle his helmet to use as a make-shift bike chain, Clint revised his mental list again. "All set? Come on, Natalie reserved us a conference room on level three for the meet'n'greet stuff. You brought your camera and portfolio?"

"Yes, sir," Peter answered. Frank snorted.

" _Frank_ ," he reminded him. "Only people you call 'sir' around here are suits or uniforms, and only if they don't say call 'em by name."

"Why is that, si-- _Frank_?" the kid corrected himself.

"We get some government drones in here sometimes, and one or two servicemen," Frank explained. "Most of the good eggs'll tell you to use their name if you're polite, but some of them have a stick up... uh, unmentionable places."

"Okay," Peter said, and Frank could tell he was fighting a grin. They entered the elevator and the doors slid closed behind them automatically.

"Level three, please, JARVIS," Frank said.

"Of course, Mr Barksdale," JARVIS replied promptly, and Clint grinned internally and made a note to thank the AI. Peter, however, had apparently not met JARVIS on his previous visit, because he jumped.

"Sorry 'bout that," Frank said to him. "JARVIS is Mr Stark's AI. He runs security for SI and the Avengers Tower. You ever get lost in either place, JARVIS'll help you out." Looking up at the camera in the elevator, he added, "JARVIS, this is Peter Parker, SI's newest acquisition."

"A pleasure, Mr Parker," JARVIS said politely.

"Er," Peter said. Frank grinned.

"JARVIS has to stick with some formality 'cause of his programming," he explained. "Just be polite so you're spared when the boss takes over the world."

"Sir does not currently have any plans to take over the world," JARVIS sniffed.

" _Currently_ ," Frank shot back, grinning.

"...Pleased to meet you, Mr JARVIS," Peter said finally. He was looking less shocked and more awed now, and Clint remembered that he'd originally applied to the tech labs and the small biology department's labs before Tony flagged him.

"'JARVIS' will do, Mr Parker," JARVIS replied, with just a touch of amusement. "Your Stark Industries identification card and access pass for the New York headquarters and Avengers Tower will be completed within the hour."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Frank spoke up, catching the almost bug-eyed look of shock on Peter's face.

"A-Avengers Tower?" he choked out, stunned. Frank looked at him, eyebrows raised above his glasses.

"Natalie told you why SI has an in-house photographer, right?" he asked. "I - and now you, too - will be on call for all photography related situations the boss and his new team mates have to handle, from press interviews to official photo shoots and any other events the boss wants pictures for. That means we go where they go, which includes the Tower."

"Oh," Peter said faintly. The doors slid open and Frank led the way down the hall to the conference room with his and Peter's names on a piece of paper taped to the door.

"Right then," Frank said, taking a seat and waving Peter into one of the other chairs. "Let's take a look at what kind of camera you're using, and then I want to see your portfolio."

Ten minutes later, Clint's mental list had grown again. The camera was old, still using film that looked like it needed an actual dark room to develop. It was fine for artistic use, but for professional jobs the kid was going to have to go digital. It was at least advanced enough to have a timer and automatic flash, and Frank pretended not to notice the traces of sticky white in the cracks of the camera's textured casing.

The portfolio was better, though. The kid was clearly making every effort to use the antique camera to the best of its capabilities. There were several photographs of people, animals, and a couple of close-ups of some brightly colored flowers, but the subject that dominated the portfolio was a red and blue clad masked figure in various stages of motion and one photograph that had been taken from above as the figure perched on top of a light tree, crouched and waiting above the sidewalk at night.

"Very good," Frank murmured, studying the angles and compositions of the shots thoughtfully. He glanced up at Peter. "I should warn you, though, SI's got a policy about publicity for Costumes." He made the capital inflection clear, and saw Peter sit up straighter. "The boss says anyone who goes out to protect people, whether they wear official uniforms or not, deserves respect and as much good publicity as SI can give 'em." He tapped the photograph in front of him, one of Spider-Man standing protectively in front of a scared-looking woman. "You want to keep taking photos of your buddy, here, that's between you and him, but we'll get Natalie to set you up with a contract and official release forms saying your photos don't get used for libel or defamation of character."

"So I have to quit the Bugle?" Peter guessed, grimacing. "I... they paid..."

"Your internship here is paid," Frank pointed out gently. "And I know the boss is offering more than that skinflint Jameson." Peter offered a weak, slightly crooked smile.

"I can't say I wouldn't be glad to see my... friend's name no longer dragged through the mud under my photos," he admitted, ducking his head a little. It was weirdly endearing, and Frank tucked that thought onto Clint's back-burner to examine later.

"Talk to your buddy," he suggested. "Then talk to Natalie. She can set it up so that his publicity goes through SI or that can stay your solo thing with you getting veto over what your stuff's used for in print. Hang on," he added as his cell (Frank's, not Clint's) began to ring. Pulling out the phone, he flipped it open and hit 'Talk'. "Barksdale."

_"Where are you?"_ Tony's voice came through the speaker. Frank raised both eyebrows, glancing at the corner and the camera.

"I'm at the zoo, boss," he drawled. "I'm hiring a spider monkey to take my job."

_"Jumpy, isn't he?"_ came the response, and Frank glanced at Peter in time to see the lingering traces of alarm slowly leaving his expression. _"Fine, spiders need to eat, too. Come back to the Tower-- no, wait, you walked, didn't you? Never mind, I'll come get you both."_

"Tour time already?" Frank asked, masking Clint's question of, _'What are you doing?'_

_"Lunch time and show and tell,"_ Tony replied, sounding a little distracted. _"Meet me out front."_

"Garage," Frank argued. There was a pause.

_"Good point, I'll use tinted windows,"_ he said. _"See you in five."_

"Got it, boss," Frank said right before Tony hung up. Shaking his head in fond exasperation, he looked over at Peter, who was looking a little shocky again. "Well, let's get down to the garage. Looks like we're heading over to the Tower sooner than planned."

"Sir has advised me to have Mr Parker's identification card and access pass waiting at the reception desk of the Tower," JARVIS spoke up, causing Peter to jump. Frank smirked, just an edge of Clint showing through.

"Rule number three, kid," he said. "JARVIS is everywhere in SI and the Tower. Never forget that."

"What are rules one and two?" he asked, scrambling to pack up his camera and portfolio.

"Never underestimate anyone, and never make Dr Banner angry," Frank quipped, leading the way back to the elevator. The ride down was faster than the ride up, and Clint figured JARVIS had adjusted the speed to coincide with Tony's progress, because the doors slid open onto the garage just as a glossy black Jaguar S-type came to a stop in front of them. Frank opened the back passenger door and gestured Peter in, then slid in behind him. "Buckle up, kid, and hang on," Frank advised, following his own advice.

"Whatever happened to 'Frankie says relax'?" Tony snarked from the driver's seat, causing Peter to freeze, eyes wide. Rolling his eyes, Frank took the seat belt tab from the kid's suddenly lax fingers and buckled him in, then slid his glasses off his nose and dropped them into the camera case.

"'Frankie' says his boss drives like a maniac on a sugar high," Clint snarked back, causing Peter to jerk and look at _him_ with wide eyes. Smirking at him, he added, "Told you not to underestimate anyone. We're gold, Tony," he added.

"Gold and going," Tony acknowledged, shifting the gears and spinning the Jaguar in a remarkably tight U-turn before accelerating out of the garage and into traffic seamlessly.

"Holy fuck, I'm being kidnapped by Tony Stark," Peter muttered dazedly. "And Gwen thought a photography internship would be boring...."

Clint met Tony's eyes in the rear view mirror and couldn't help but laugh.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have reached chapter 42, the last stated chapter limit, and this story is still. ~thud~ Fracking. ~thud~ Going. ~thud~ ...Frack.

**D** ESPITE THE PROMISE OF ID AND AN ACCESS PASS AT THE FRONT DESK, Tony and Clint ushered a still quietly shell-shocked Peter into the private elevator at the back of the secured garage under the Tower. Mischievously, Tony only said, "Take us up, JARVIS," and leaned back against the wall of the elevator to wait. Clint, clearly not wanting to be left out, opted to perch on the hand rail of the opposite wall in a way that looked like Criss Angel's levitation stunt.

Peter stared at them both blankly for a long moment, then looked at Clint. "Is your name even actually Frank?" he asked, a little plaintively.

"Middle name," Clint said with a smirk. "Always try to pick an alias tangentally related to your own name so you learn to answer to it quickly."

"Is that rule number four?" the kid asked.

"They're more like guidelines," Tony quipped.

"Because you like to flaunt rule two with impunity," Clint shot back.

"They're my rules, I can flaunt them all I want!" Tony said loftily, easily pretending that tapping into that conference room's feed hadn't been the first he'd even heard of the "rules".

"You're not actually going to tell me your name, are you," Peter muttered in a faintly resigned tone.

"I'm still waiting to hear the reason you're so calm about supposedly being kidnapped," Clint returned lightly, though Tony noticed his eyes remained fixed sharply on the kid.

"You just said 'supposedly', so there's that," Peter said, shooting him a crooked grin. "Plus, we're in Avengers Tower. Mr Stark is an Avenger. The Avengers are the good guys, right? So they wouldn't support an actual kidnapping of a minor, right?"

"Think he's forgetting the giant green rage monster and two seasoned assassins on the main team roster?" Clint asked Tony, raising an eyebrow.

"Hush, let me have my innocent delusions a little longer," Peter grumbled, then looked like he'd swallowed something wrong.

"Kid's got guts, I'll grant him that," Tony said, smirking below intently thoughtful eyes. He was watching the kid closely, studying each breath, each twitch and shift as they slowly ascended the floors and the elevator passed through the limited isonuclear micropulse field between floors nineteen and "A1". He saw the way Peter's body underwent a sweeping shudder, starting at his scalp and working its way all the way down, so much like what he'd seen from Natasha nearly a week ago, and he knew Clint was noticing the same thing.

"Has to take guts to swing around the city in nothing but red and blue spandex," Clint drawled, his eyes still on Peter.

The result of his little declaration was sort of anticlimactic. Peter went pale and swallowed once, but didn't otherwise seem surprised that the two men in the elevator with him appeared to know his secret identity. When he lifted his eyes from the floor, resignation and wariness were evident in his expression, but there was also a hint of stubbornness and a glint of hard determination. It reminded Tony, oddly, of _Barnes_.

"Are you arresting me?" Peter asked quietly, after a moment where he stared at them and they stared silently back. Tony exchanged a quick glance with Clint, then returned his eyes to Peter.

"Recruiting you, actually," he said, then amended, "Well, scouting you for eventual recruitment, anyway. Legally we can't recruit you without the consent of your aunt, at least not for another ten months."

"You know my birthday," Peter muttered. "Of course you know my birthday, you're Tony Stark, you know everything."

"Flattering, but inaccurate," Tony said, fighting a snicker. "You've actually been under covert observation ever since your internship last year with Conners. Nice job taking him down, by the way. We had measures in place to neutralize him if you couldn't, but they would have been a bit more permanent."

"You were watching?!" Peter gaped at him, and Tony noticed a flash of anger starting to form in his expression. He leveled as serious a look as he could muster at the boy.

"Don't," he said. "You saw where Captain Stacy was hit. By the time our people could have gotten to him, he'd have been dead anyway. And by 'our people' I mean Stark Industries, since SHIELD wasn't in on that little facet of observation."

"We had our own observation going," Clint broke in. "Not as soon as you did, but it's hard not to notice when someone who can stick to walls starts fighting crime in a spandex bodysuit."

"Do you have to keep bringing up the spandex part?" Peter whined, actually _whined_. Clint grinned toothily.

"Until you agree to our demands, yep!" he said. Peter tensed again, looking back and forth between them.

"I'm still a minor, you know," he said, visibly stopping himself from backing away. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

Tony burst out laughing, Clint not far behind. From between his narrowed eyelids, Tony could see Peter regarding them both with wary confusion, and forced himself to reign it in.

"Say that in front of Cap, I dare you!" he managed, still grinning. "I'll even double your salary if you get a picture of his face when you do."

"...Okay?" Peter said. He was looking dazed again. Tony took that as a good sign. "So, what do you really want?"

"For now?" Tony said, just as JARVIS obligingly opened the elevator doors onto the penthouse. "Lunch. I suspect you're hungry, being a teenager as well as a Triple S victim."

"We can talk about the more long-term stuff either over lunch or after," Clint added, hopping down from his perch. "I've got a list, and I bet Tony does, too."

"So does Natasha," Tony added, leading the way through the living room and into the kitchen. Running through his mental inventory of the kitchen, he started raiding the cupboards and refrigerator for ingredients. Bread crumbs, uncooked ground Italian sausage, marinara sauce, cheese, a couple of long loaves of wheat bread... "Clint, how hungry are you?"

"Depends on what you're making," came the reply as Clint moved closer to get a look at the ingredients. "...Meatball subs? You know how to make meatball subs?"

"Mom _was_ Italian," Tony pointed out dryly.

"...hand-rolled meatball subs..." Clint repeated, his eyes lifting to Tony's. "Marry me, Stark."

Tony's heart damn near stopped. "Can't," he forced out as lightly as he could manage. "I promised Fury I wouldn't be his next wedding."

"Then tell Barnes and Tasha to hurry the fuck up," Clint grumbled, but there was a hint of apology in his eyes as he backed off. Tony made himself breathe, and bumped his hip against Clint's as he carried five loaves to the counter.

"Wait a minute," Peter exclaimed, staring at them. "Clint, as in Clint _Barton_? _Hawkeye_?"

"Guilty as charged," Clint drawled, grinning, though Tony could tell Clint was surprised. Peter must have caught it, too, because he ducked his head.

"I do work at the Bugle," he mumbled. "Or, well, _did_."

"How many antacids was JJ popping?" Tony asked, pretending to bounce in place.

"Before or after the press conference where you called 'Spider-Man' a hero like the rest of you?" Peter asked, flushing brightly. Tony cackled.

"Awesome," he gloated. "Pepper has to talk me out of buying out the Bugle every time that Hitler-mustached ferret goes on one of his tirades."

"That's because she doesn't want you to look like a bully for standing up to bullies," Darcy said as she breezed into the kitchen, her eyes on her tablet. She looked up, glancing around the kitchen and focusing in on Peter, who had frozen. "Cute, jail bait, slightly scruffy, in the kitchen with Tony and Clint.... you must be Peter Parker. I'm Darcy, chief scientist wrangler and assistant cat herder."

"Peter," the kid stammered. "But you... knew that already."

"Appearances have to be kept up outside the A-levels of the Tower, but up here you don't have to pretend unless you want to mess with someone," Darcy explained, then thrust the tablet in Tony's direction. "Not handing, holding. Just sign."

"What am I signing?" Tony shot back, not reaching for the tablet. His hands were covered in uncooked sausage, which would _not_ be good for the tablet.

"The contract stating ownership of Bruce and Betty's bodies," Darcy said. "Bruce sent it to me for proofing before you sign."

"Ah, damn... hang on," Tony grimaced, putting down the meatball he'd been rolling and going to the sink to wash his hands.

"Ownership?" Peter squeaked.

"Betty's idea," Darcy explained while Tony scrubbed at the fat coating his hands. "It's not completely necessary, since anything to do with the super soldier serum falls under Stark Industries' jurisdiction, but the more legal red tape we can wrap around them, the safer they are from any unscrupulous jackasses who want to lock them up in a lab and dissect them."

"Don't feel like you or Spidey have to do anything like that," Tony added, drying his hands. Clint plucked the tablet out of Darcy's hand and passed it to Tony, who took it and skimmed through the digital documents. A few taps transferred his electronic signature to the relevant places and cleared the traces before he handed the tablet back to Clint, who wordlessly passed it on to Darcy.

"Thanks, guys!" Darcy beamed. "I've got to go find Dad and drag the Soldier Boys out and about. You cleared James to leave the Tower, right?"

"So long as he stays with the group and wears the flesh glove so SHIELD doesn't get their panties in a twist," Tony nodded, picking up the next portion of sausage to roll.

"Great, see you later. Nice meeting you, Peter!" Darcy waved as she left the kitchen.

"You okay there?" Clint asked, when Peter just sat there.

"...Wondering how this is my life," Peter admitted after a moment. Tony snorted softly.

"Yep," he said, finishing the last meatball and moving back to the sink to wash his hands again before he started cooking. "You'll fit right in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They're more like guidelines." - reference to the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie.


	43. Chapter 43

**N** ATASHA WAS WELL AWARE, thanks to Tony's discreet texts earlier, that firstly, Peter Parker was in the kitchen of the penthouse, and secondly, that Clint had broken cover once they were all behind the tinted windows of Tony's Jaguar. Therefore, when Natalie Rushman left for lunch, she headed directly for the Tower and asked JARVIS to take her up to join them. She didn't have enough time to change clothes twice before she would need to get back for Pepper's afternoon meeting, so she left her blouse and skirt alone and merely slipped her feet out of her shoes, picking them up as the door opened.

"--some form of body armor," she heard Tony saying sternly from the kitchen and followed his voice. "I don't care how good a healing factor you have - actually, I do, since it'll make a difference in how quickly to get you medical attention in case you get shot or something again - but you are not going out again without at least some form of passive protection."

"Geez, okay, _Dad_ , I get it," came the response from Peter, and Natasha raised both eyebrows. Apparently Clint and Tony had gotten the boy to relax in spite of the scolding, if he was mouthing off like that.

Come to think of it....

"I see nepotism is alive and well in SI," she deadpanned as she entered the kitchen. Peter and Tony both jumped - unlike Clint, who just smirked - but Tony relaxed immediately upon seeing her, whereas Peter looked like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"I only hire _capable_ illegitimate offspring, thank you," Tony said loftily, waving a hand in illustration. For a moment, Natasha almost believed him, but... no, there was that glint of wicked humour she'd noticed he shared with Clint. Gesturing to the counter, he added, "Hungry?"

"Are those meatball subs?" she asked, getting a look at the set up. She flicked a glance at Clint, who was blushing slightly and avoiding her eyes, then back to Tony, who was studiously not looking at Clint without actively looking like he was avoiding looking at Clint. Natasha decided to say nothing. "You're picking up the dry cleaning bill if I get sauce on this blouse," she said instead, pulling out a chair and sitting down, setting her shoes down on the floor beside her while her free hand came up to let down her hair.

"I always pick up the dry cleaning bill," Tony scoffed. Before she could snark back, however, he pulled his MIT sweatshirt over his head and tossed it to her. She caught it purely by reflex, meeting his eyes quizzically. He met her stare evenly, one eyebrow raised, but his expression was curiously devoid of challenge. Almost hesitant.

He was... being friendly.

Well.

She smiled a little in thanks and pulled the sweatshirt over her head, sliding it down around her before unbuttoning her blouse and letting it slip off her beneath the cover of the worn grey heavyweight. The action drew a squeak from Peter, and she glanced at him.

"Your real name isn't really Natalie Rushman, is it," he said, sounding almost despairing.

"Natasha," she said dryly, flipping the blouse to rest across the back of the chair and resettling the sweatshirt. It smelled of musk and sweat, and faintly of engine grease and the minute traces of amniotic fluid that must have seeped through the t-shirt Tony was wearing. "Call me 'Nat' and I will end you."

Peter, however, was looking at her with dawning understanding and a little dismay. "Do I even want to know why the Black Widow is under cover as personal assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries?" he asked, looking resigned to learning the answer even if it turned out he didn't want to know.

"The best cover is the most ubiquitous and frequently overlooked," Natasha said promptly, obliging him.

"Rule five!" Tony and Clint chorused, then grinned at each other. At Peter's look, Tony added, "No, we are not training you to be a spy any more than necessary for your personal safety."

"Really?" Peter deadpanned, eyes a little too wide for completely comfortable sarcasm, but at least trying. "Red and blue is supposed to be the new black for the espionage-inclined. I feel so cheated."

"That's why I stick to purple," Clint cracked, smirking. "Why mess with something that's worked for years?"

"That your recommendation for the Hulk Pants?" Tony asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"He turns green, and purple's the complimentary shade on the color wheel," Clint said with mock seriousness.

"Maybe you should ask Bruce what color _he_ wants the pants to be?" Natasha broke in, rolling her eyes when Clint and Tony turned matching 'where's the fun in that?' looks on her. "How is that coming, anyway?"

"Frustratingly," Tony admitted. "Honestly, the body armor is easier to figure out than those damned pants."

"What's the problem?" Clint asked, frowning slightly. "I thought you'd worked out the right fiber composition last week."

"Pretty much," Tony said, nodding. "The fabric itself holds up to the stress tests brilliantly, but once it's put together into pants...."

"What kind of thread are you using?"

Natasha turned her head to look at Peter at the same time that Clint and Tony turned as well. Peter flushed and visibly forced himself not to shrink back into his chair.

"Are you using elastic thread?" he repeated, sounding a little less firm. "'Cause, you know, no matter how elastic the fabric is, if the stitches don't stretch too...."

"Out of the mouths of spandex-wearing babes," Tony breathed, staring at him. For a moment, he looked as if he was physically _yearning_ to run down to his lab and start a new set of calculations. As Natasha watched, he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, then let it out and turned back to the stove, picking up the unmarked jar of red sauce and pouring it into the pan with the freshly cooked meatballs.

Well. That was different.

Settling back in her chair, Natasha glanced at Clint, only to find him looking at Tony with an odd expression on his face. There was fondness, yes, and some of the same sort of affection he looked at her with, but there was something else there that Natasha wasn't quite sure of. She didn't have long to study it, because Clint felt her stare and turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised, and that nebulous emotion was gone.

"Tea?" she asked.

"Coming right up," Clint nodded, moving to one of the cabinets. Opening it, he added, "Pick a tea, any tea."

"Lapsang souchong with blackberry sage?" Natasha fired back, not actually expecting Tony to have it. Clint paused, then pulled down two hand-labelled metal canisters.

"Two to one ratio?" he asked. Natasha nodded, surprised, then turned her eyes to Tony.

"...You keep surprising me, маленький брат," she said. _I usually don't like surprises,_ she didn't have to say.

"I'd hate to be accused of being boring," Tony answered, winking at her over his shoulder. Natasha hid a smile, which she suspected he saw anyway, and let it go.

"So," she said, turning back to Peter. "While our lunch finishes cooking, let's discuss your upcoming training schedule, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> маленький брат - little brother
> 
> Lapsang souchong is a black tea that brews up very dark amber and has a glorious smoky aroma and accompanying woodsmoke flavours. It's available from multiple tea distributors, though finding it in loose leaf form is a challenge almost worthy of the Labours of Herakles, and it tastes fantastic when paired with the Republic of Tea's blackberry sage blend.
> 
> IMPORTANT: Peter is not Tony's son. Both Tony and Peter know this. However, Tony likes messing with people, and Peter's okay with playing along. While I don't mind the whole "Superfamily" thing in general, YKINMK applies. (Especially since this is Clint/Tony.)


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There be naked people here! ...Unfortunately not Clint and Tony.

**T** HE TRICK TO ERSKIN'S SERUM, something brushed against but never fully realized by any of the minds attempting to recreate it unless and until they experienced it, was that his words - "the serum takes that which is inside and brings it to the outside" - weren't just a poetic way of saying that the serum made super soldiers. It didn't, and it never had. Steve Rogers, a good man fighting and striving to stand up for truth, justice, and the protection of the innocent despite his physical limitations, was granted the peak of human physical perfection, the lack of which being all that had stopped him from going out and fighting the good fight; only in that way had the serum created a super soldier.

From what Tony had explained, briefly, his own experience was much more difficult to categorize. As only a child of five, he'd already displayed a marked intelligence similar to his father's purported genius, only to have it skyrocket after the experiment. His memories had been hazy from years and pain and a good deal of repression, but he had admitted to thinking, "Survive. Adapt. Make Father proud," like a mantra. "Failed", he and the other three had been dubbed, but it was all too possible that the serum hadn't failed at all, that Tony had been just strong enough, inside and out even at five, to withstand it and become... himself. Nothing less than everything he was meant to be. Erskin would likely have called it a success, had he been alive to see it, but as it was Tony was the only one (besides perhaps JARVIS) to know his full potential and capabilities.

When Bruce had come into contact with it, through General Ross's meddling with their research and making unauthorized additions to the formula they were supposed to be testing, he was still so very angry inside, angry at a father who had killed his mother and in turn been killed by his hand, angry at a system that never noticed they were hurting or tried to stop the man hurting them, angry at every single person who looked down on him for being smarter, for being poor, for being an orphan, the son of a dead drunk who killed his wife, and angry at himself for being the freak his father always said he was, for even being so angry in the first place. So much anger needed an outlet, but Bruce would never want to harm someone who didn't deserve it, would never raise a hand against his girlfriend or lab assistants... and so, instead, the serum split him, gave him the outlet for his Id, angry and wounded, and General Ross had sealed Bruce's fate by panicking and attacking.

And he hadn't learned. He'd thought it was _good_ that his daughter's boyfriend whom he'd never really approved of was now nothing more than a science experiment, a monster that needed to be contained, controlled, studied and replicated until it was little more than another biological weapon, no thought to the people he was using, destroying to create those monsters, those Abominations. When Betty had woken up from her coma and _defended_ Bruce? Well, if she wasn't with him, she was against him and no longer his daughter, was she? But she was still important to Bruce, to "the Hulk", and it must have seemed a poetic irony to him that the very person Bruce wanted most to protect would be turned into the creature he would use to destroy him.

Except that didn't work, either. Betty took into the radiation chamber with her, not anger or hatred, but a profound peace and a strong desire to protect the man she loved. Despite the pain of the procedure, the real fear that she could die there without ever seeing Bruce again, she held onto her faith in Bruce and her love for him. As the serum and the radiation went to work, she believed. As the AIM scientists set to work trying to "fix what went wrong" when she didn't come out a monster, she believed. She trusted. She prayed.

And then, in a whirlwind of men in suits and a woman in frighteningly fashionable heels, she was free and spirited away from AIM and into a luxurious hotel with an actual bath tub and shower, with clean sheets and soft pillows, and the woman was introducing herself as _"Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, it's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Ross."_

_"Betty,"_ she'd croaked back. _"Call me Betty. I never want to use that name again."_

And Pepper, wonderful Pepper, who looked at her as a person instead of an experiment, had smiled gently at her and said, _"Maybe you could talk a certain someone into letting you change it to 'Banner'."_

Sitting up in the expansive bed, knees pulled up to her bare chest beneath the fall of sheets that only reached to her waist so far up, Betty pushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear and looked down with a soft, loving smile at the sleeping form of the man she'd willingly gone through hell for. There were more lines around his eyes and mouth from stress, more grey hair than there should be for someone so young, but it was still her Bruce. Despite her faith, she'd been honestly worried at what his reaction would be to seeing her again, but all her doubts had fallen away when he'd lurched to his feet with that achingly hopeful look on his face as he said her name, and she'd flung herself into his arms.

_"I can't believe you're really here,"_

_"Nowhere else I want to be. Marry me?"_

_"Really? I mean, yes, of course, I asked you first and all, but you really want... this?"_

_"Always and forever, Bruce Darius Banner. I love you, all of you. I want you, I want your name, and I want your future to all be mine."_

_"Anything, Betty..."_

She wondered now if her almost preternatural calm was all her or Her, still Betty at the core, but more than just who and what she'd grown up as and closer to what she was perhaps meant to be. "Harpy", AIM had called her, when they hadn't called her by subject number, wanting to make her a monster from myth who was the doom of men foolish to fall for her. Such a patchwork creature, just lacking wings and rage...

...And Bruce said she would have been an angel.

"Mmmm... Be'y?" Bruce mumbled, stirring and blinking open his eyes. "So'ing wro--" He broke off in a huge yawn that he blearily tried and failed to hide behind his hand. "--Ong?"

"Nothing," Betty said softly, and she meant it. Right at that moment, there was nothing at all that was wrong in their little world. When Bruce blinked his eyes further open and peered up at her blearily, she smiled and stretched sideways over him to reach his glasses, enjoying the slightly glazed look that crossed his face at her freely swinging breasts. "Just wondering what miracle of sainthood I must have performed that now I get to keep you."

"I've been thinking the same thing," Bruce admitted, so softly and shyly, that Betty couldn't help but lean down and kiss him. He kissed her back, and she very nearly forgot about his glasses until the frames dug into her palm and she reluctantly pulled back enough to slip the glasses onto his nose. He blinked at her owlishly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in perception, and she met his bashful smile with another kiss.

"Mmmmm... color?" Betty asked, stretching out her legs to settle closer against her new husband.

"Purple and gold, with a side of turquoise," Bruce said, voice rough and faintly needy, and Betty felt her pulse quicken in answer as her body tightened with the promise.

"Rose pink," Betty murmured, pressing her lips against the curve of Bruce's jaw.

"Fuchsia," Bruce gasped, tilting his head back. Betty pressed her advantage, rolling over on top of him and hovering, hands on either side of his head as she rocked her hips against his, purring as he twitched upwards at the feel of her wet heat against his skin.

"Fuchsia's good," she said happily, and leaned in to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in my head!canon, Bruce has a mild form of synesthesia, in that he experiences most emotions as colours, hence the unique wedding vows laid out earlier. Betty's helped him learn to translate them for other people's reference, but since they're in their own home, why should they have to say "I love you" instead of "rose pink", or "I love you and want you" when "fuchsia" will do? XD (For those of you who don't want to backtrack and check the vows, purple is rapture and gold is joy. Turquoise, not mentioned, is awe with an edge of disbelief.)
> 
> I am not at all basing the synesthesia on my own experience. ~shifty look~ ~~I hear people I know well in music.~~ ~clears throat~ The way Bruce and Betty are acting around each other, however, is distinctly similar to how my husband of six years and I _still_ act with each other. XD


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE~! ...Yes, I know it's been months since my last update, but I'm just getting a breather right before going off to Boston. I should be able to write more on the train and finally get past the chapter that's kicking my arse with being difficult. For now, here's a new chapter, and I hope it tides you over a bit. Thank you all for sticking with me! ^_^

**S** TEVE HAD BLUSHED WHEN BUCKY, more interested in Darcy's mention of "the jail bait lovechild of Tony and Natasha" in the penthouse kitchen than in going out into the city, had waved him and Darcy off with a suggestive wink and a "you kids have fun, now!" Darcy had rolled her eyes at him, oddly, but Bucky vowed to think about that later after he'd talked to Agent Coulson. Instead, he eyed his blue-painted metal hand, debating with himself, then opted to leave off the "flesh glove" since he was in the relative privacy of the Tower. Tugging on a pair of jeans (from Tony) and a t-shirt (one of Steve's), he left Steve's apartment and headed for the elevator.

"Hey, JARVIS?" Bucky asked, finger hovering over the button. "Is it safe to go up to the penthouse?"

"Sir has deemed young Mr Parker as 'safe enough', Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS replied, putting the elevator in motion without Bucky touching the button.

Well, that answered that. If Tony hadn't wanted people to stop by while this Parker kid was around, he'd have had JARVIS say so. "Does Tony want us to play nice, or can we mess with the kid's head?"

"I suspect a combination of both options is to be expected," JARVIS answered in a dry tone, making Bucky grin.

"Fantastic."

The doors to the elevator slid open onto the sound of laughter and the scent of Italian sausage and marinara sauce. Bucky's steps faltered at he picked out the familiar/unfamiliar sound of Talia's laughter along with the others, but there was Barton poking his head out the door to see who'd arrived and beckoning him in.

"Barnes!" Tony greeted, waving a loaf of bread in his direction as he stepped in. "Decided not to venture out into the wilds of Manhattan Twenty-Twelve?"

"Couldn't resist poking fun about Steve going out _alone_ with a dame," Bucky said back, shaking his head a little. "I know it's not ever gonna happen with them - I've got eyes - but he still turns that hilarious shade of red about it."

"Well, come in and have a sub," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Sit, eat, drink, be merry, meet the new kid." Bucky snorted and, with a glance around the table, took a seat to one side of Tal-- _Natasha_.

"We'd better not die tomorrow, Stark," he said idly, eyes flicking around the room in an automatic scout pattern, committing the room to memory. Barton obviously noticed him doing it, because he raised an eyebrow only once Bucky looked his way.

"Why, got hot plans?" the other sniper asked, grinning suggestively. Bucky snorted softly.

"That depends on the lady wearing Tony's sweatshirt," he replied, then blinked, running his own words back through his head. He turned to look at Natasha. "Wait, why are you wearing his sweatshirt?"

"I have to get back to SI after lunch," she answered evenly. Bucky took in the sweatshirt, then calm on her face, the easy stances of both Tony and Barton, and the white blouse draped over the back of Natasha's chair, and shrugged.

"Fair enough," he said, frowning down at the white shirt he wore. "Should I change? I wouldn't care, but it's Steve's shirt, and..."

"Say no more, we understand," Tony said, sounding just shy of truly joking with his long-suffering tone. "And you're fine, just don't let him see you put the shirt in the Tower's laundry chute if you sauce it up."

"He'll try to pull some 'they're my clothes and I got them dirty, so I should clean them' deal?" Bucky said knowingly.

"Please tell me you won't do the same," Tony said, looking pained. "We all have to take care of our special gear ourselves for security reasons, but there are reasons for having a laundry service attached to the Tower!"

"Don't worry, I won't be taking anybody's job away," Bucky reassured him, smirking. "You want me to beat some sense into Steve?"

"Not if you have to do it literally," Tony grumbled. "Super healing or no, I still have to patch you both up if you break bones."

"No bloodshed, got it, Sawbones," Bucky drawled, drawing a snicker from Barton and a choked laugh from the brown-haired kid who'd been watching the exchange with wide eyes. Bucky turned to him and eyed him with interest. "Sooooo... you're the one the lovely Miss Lewis was calling the jail bait lovechild of Tony and Natasha."

"Er, Peter Parker," the kid stammered, looking more than a little startled. "Not actually related to either of them, as far as I know."

"Well, since Darcy likes to claim I'm Tony's twin born five decades apart, I guess that makes me your uncle," Bucky joked, holding out his flesh hand to the kid, who took it hesitantly. "James Barnes. Call me James or Bucky, whichever's comfortable."

"How about 'Uncle Buck'?" the kid asked, then looked started and a little mortified while Barton and Tony laughed. Bucky rolled his eyes and glanced at Natasha.

"Book, movie, television, or comic?" he asked. Her lips twitched in amusement.

"Movie," she said, and he nodded.

"I'll look it up later," he said, letting go of the kid's hand. "Nice to meet you, Peter Rabbit." The kid made a face at that, but shrugged a little.

"Guess that's better than 'spider monkey'," he said. This apparently had been Barton's contribution, because it kicked him off into continuing whatever conversation Bucky had interrupted earlier. Glancing at Natasha, he caught her eye and made a quick, furtive hand signal. _Talk?_ Her eyes flickered, shoulders tense, then signed back an agreement, followed by _Wait_ and _Tonight_.

_Dinner?_

_Yes._

Satisfied that he was being granted the chance to talk with Talia - _Natasha_ , he had to remember that - Bucky settled back in his seat and tuned back into the conversation about... climbing walls?

Jesus H. This new century just kept getting more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Uncle Buck](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Buck) is a movie. I have never actually seen this movie that I recall, so I cannot say much about the plot, but I couldn't resist the pun potential.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very, very sorry for how late this chapter is. It's been a succession of computer errors and hard drive deaths, and I only just managed to recover this chapter from the dead hard drive. Still working on reconstructing the three chapters that come after it, but it may take some time. Being dragged into different fandoms hasn't helped, either.
> 
> Quick note to remind everyone that this was started after Avengers but before Iron Man 3, Thor 2, or Captain America 2 came out. Some things will differ from the MCU canon where it is right now (Bucky's presence being one of them), though some others may be incorporated. Again, ten thousand apologies for how long it's taken me to post this.

**D** ARCY ENDED UP DRAGGING STEVE OUT TO QUEENS, where they met Phil coming from SHIELD HQ. Steve wasn't sure what she meant by "if the spider's in Avenger territory, we're so invading his web", but he didn't complain when they ended up at the Irish Cottage over on 72nd Street. The prices made his eyebrows rise a bit, but at least he didn't nearly swallow his tongue the way the last restaurant they'd gone to had been priced. He still protested when Darcy made him order two full meals.

"Doctor's orders," Darcy said firmly. "You're supposed to take whatever you can't eat home with you and stock your fridge with leftovers to reheat in the afternoons."

"Our next stop will be the supermarket for a look at microwavable meals to stock your freezer with," Coulson added dryly. "Dry and canned goods for your cupboards, too. SHIELD is covering the cost of the 'trial and error period' as Director Fury and I feel that Medical dropped the ball by not informing you of the lengths to which you were and are still recovering from..."

"The ice?" Steve hazarded, when Coulson trailed off uncertainly.

"And the war," Darcy piped in, keeping her voice pitched to low conversation level. "Being on military field rations with a daily high-impact workout - pun intended - wasn't doing you any favours in the health department. Now that he knows what to watch for, Tony's monitoring your recovery, but there's only so much the supplements can do when they're meant to support your metabolism at peak health while eating 'human normal' and you're not there yet."

"Oh," Steve mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat. He knew what Tony and Clint had told him, and after talking to Bucky he'd learned that his best friend was also under "doc's orders" for the same sort of low-grade starvation _he_ was recovering from. It seemed to be a common factor between the serums. "Do you or Dr Banner--"

"Bruce power-eats proteins and drinks a lot of Gatoraid after a 'green shift'," Darcy broke in, anticipating his question. "The rest of us aren't quite the same, since Dad and the others only get the super-munchies when they're injured and I've been on supplements since puberty."

"You have?" Steve blinked, surprised. "But... I thought you..." He glanced at Coulson to see him giving Darcy a small frown, and looked back at the young woman in time to see her wince. Watching them exchange minute gestures and facial expressions reminded him eerily of having watched Clint and Natasha do the same thing that it really brought home to him that Darcy really was Agent Coulson's daughter.

Their waitress arrived before they finished discussing whatever bit of classified data Darcy must have accidentally hinted at, and Steve let himself be distracted by the huge plate of food he was presented with. His stomach rumbled at him impatiently, making him blush; it still felt greedy of him to eat so much and so often, but Darcy was looking at him with a pleased smile so he tried to see his returning appetite as a good thing.

"So," Darcy said as the waitress left. "You're right that I didn't know about Dad's... hm, situation before last week, although somebody must have. Thing is," she added, exchanging a glance with Coulson, "we all knew about Mom."

"She was Peggy's daughter, wasn't she," Steve said, starting to see where this was probably going. At Darcy's look, he forced a weak smile. "You look like her. Your hair, the shape of your lips, most of your bone structure."

"Right, artist," Darcy muttered to herself, glancing at her father.

"Agent Carter gave birth to Sharon, but her sister Elsa adopted her and raised her with her husband, Jacques Luis," Coulson picked up, his calm and matter of fact tone bracing for Steve as he listened. "She changed it to 'Lewis' when she came over to the States to join SHIELD and I was assigned to help her through orientation, since I was the only one they had who could relate to her... initial difficulties in adjusting."

Steve was silent for a long moment, digesting that information. The puzzle pieces were starting to line up in ways that we're making him even more uncomfortable than he had been just knowing (or at least guessing) that Darcy's mother must have been the daughter of Peggy and some unknown man. If that had really been the case, she and Coulson wouldn't be dancing around the actual words as they were, though it was a toss up as to if they were being circumspect on account of their location or were trying to ease him into the realization he still wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, knowing that if... after having lost seventy years of living and growing with Peggy, after losing everyone he'd loved only to start _getting them back_ one by one like this...

That he'd also missed however many years of... what had Coulson said her name was? Sharon? Of Sharon's life, and she would have had to have been born after he was already in the ice... At most, that made her sixty-eight years old now, didn't it? And Darcy was twenty-eight, wasn't she? Physically older than him by four years, serum traces apparently present in both parents, if what she'd said earlier was any indication, and Steve wasn't a genius like Bruce or Tony by any stretch, but he wasn't usually slow on the uptake, either.

He frowned slightly, puzzled. He really _wasn't_ slow on the uptake, at least when it involved anything other than personal relationships. He'd been told on more than one occasion that he didn't know how to talk to women, but that was as much because those women always seemed to be changing the rules on him, and it had only gotten worse on his road trip. He'd gotten called a chauvinist pig for holding the door for one lady, gotten a dirty look for _not_ holding the door for a different lady, and he'd only seemed to get it right when he held the door for a woman with a three-year-old and arms full of grocery bags. Even if he _had_ been around for those seventy years, who's to say he would have even been with Peggy in that way, without the war and the shared experiences and dangers to pull them together? Would losing Bucky have eventually made him as broken and bitter as Howard had become? The thought, coupled with his remembrance of Tony's wary look around him made him feel sick.

_"You're going to want to hit something, and I'd just as soon it not be me."_

_"I wouldn't!"_

_"Maybe, maybe not."_

"Steve?"

He jerked, his fork scraping against the plate, and looked up to meet the concerned faces of Darcy and Agent Coulson. Blinking, Steve realized that he'd been automatically eating as he rearranged his world view for what seemed like the thousandth time, and his plate was nearly empty while their plates were still half full.

He blushed.

"Sorry, just... thinking," he said, shifting a little as he struggled to find some way to answer the questions in their eyes, some response he could give that would let them know he was... well, he wasn't _okay_ , not really, but it wasn't like this newest curve ball was actually all that bad, right? He glanced at Coulson and managed something passably resembling a smile. "Guess it's a little late to ask your intentions towards my daughter, huh?"

"To love, honor, and cherish her, through whatever life throws at us," Coulson said evenly over Darcy's squeal of delight. "The symphony goes on break in three weeks, so you'll get to meet her for yourself then, Captain."

"Call me Steve," he said, forcing himself not to fiddle with his fork too obviously. "It feels weird to be formal with... family."

"I don't mind if you call me 'Phil'," Coulson - _Phil_ \- returned, only to stop when a sharp beeping interrupted. Steve tensed, as did Darcy, and Phil grimaced, pulling out his phone and checking the number.

"SHIELD Medical," he said, standing. "Excuse me, I need to take this."

"We'll settle up here," Darcy said, waving him off. Steve glanced around for their waitress, intending to flag her down politely and ask for to-go boxes, when Darcy cleared her throat. "So... no hard feelings about the flirting?" she asked when he looked at her questioningly.

He flushed. "Ah... I'm curious about _why_ ," he admitted. It was her turn to blush, then.

"Mostly I just wanted to mess with Jane, at first," she admitted. "She was driving me crazy with her rants about her thunderous hunk of beefcake. Then I rationalized it would help you get more comfortable with modern women while I got to flex the old flirting muscles so I don't get rusty waiting for someone Dad doesn't scare off to take an interest." At his look, she added, "Almost all the agents fall into three categories: the ones who think I'm a useless hanger-on, the ones who notice Hill keeps trying to recruit me and wonder why, and the ones who know who my parents are and are suitably terrified. The ones who aren't in those categories are Clint and Natasha, and they're family."

"Why agents?" Steve asked, uncertainly. Granted, the military's fraternization policy might not apply to a civilian consultant, but then why would Agent Hill keep trying to recruit Darcy?

"Clearance," Darcy said succinctly. "Civvies don't have enough to handle being around me for more than a night, which is fine for itch-scratching but no basis for a relationship, and given SHIELD's whole 'fraternization yay!' policy--"

"What?!" Steve blurted, eyes wide. Darcy paused, then smirked.

"SHIELD's policy quietly encourages fraternization within the ranks rather than discourages it," she explained. "Sort of a 'Sacred Band of Thebes' type thing, only not quite so mandatory. The idea is to foster tight-knit working relationships that lead to effective partnerships since the average person is more likely to go the extra mile to protect someone you love than just out of duty to a team mate, so long as everyone is professional and consenting. Psych has a division of relationship counselors for just that purpose. It's why Mom's still a SHIELD agent, though she doesn't do a lot of intensive field work anymore."

"Is that why Clint and Natasha... er, what?" Steve asked, frowning at Darcy. Waving her hand at him, she made a visible effort to get her sudden burst of giggles under control.

"Sorry, sorry, just... they fooled you, too?" she said, grinning. "Just about everyone at SHIELD thinks those two are together, and it's never happened and never _gonna_ happen. They're like Mal and Zoe, completely devoted to each other and completely platonic about it."

"Oh!" Steve blushed. "I just... they're so open with each other..."

"You've gotta watch their body language more than listen to what they're saying," Darcy said knowingly. "Come to think of it, that's probably true of all your team mates."

"Even Tony?" Steve asked, nonplussed.

"Especially Tony," Darcy said firmly. "He's had to wear masks all his life and long ago mastered the art of saying nothing in a thousand words, so actions really do speak louder." Steve winced, thinking back to all his interactions with Tony and the wary, defensive way the other man held himself around him.

"...He hates me, doesn't he," he said miserably.

"He doesn't know you," Darcy said, frowning at him. "He's working on that, I'm sure, but... well, you've been reading his file, right? Decades of issues don't just disappear because you want them to. Give it time and be yourself. Let him get to know Steve Rogers instead of Captain America as seen by Howard Stark."

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Steve had gone down in the ice as Captain America and had come back out still in that war zone mentality and he really hadn't had much time to try and transition back to being just Steve again before the Chitauri and Loki and... everything else. And now that Bucky was back, he could at least admit to just how unfair he'd been to Tony during those first few days, and even after that. His jaw ached a little with phantom pain from remembering that punch Clint had thrown at him. That had been a real wake-up call, and not a pleasant one, but he could admit now that he'd needed it.

"That was Dr Rieslig," Phil's voice broke through his thoughts as the other man slid back into his seat at the table. Steve blinked at him, not understanding the significance, but Darcy sat up straighter.

"Anything wrong?" she asked tensely. Phil smiled slightly, even as he waved over their waitress.

"Everything's fine," he said. "They're releasing Dr Selvig today, and I thought you and Dr Foster would want to be there to pick him up."

"Thank Thor," Darcy breathed, slumping in relief. "Yes, definitely."

"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked, approaching with a smile.

"Just the check and a couple to-go boxes, please," Phil requested. "And my friend's second entree."

"I'll bring those right out for you," the waitress said, and disappeared again. Darcy caught Steve's expression and grinned weakly.

"With all of us super-healers around, it hits kind of hard when someone _doesn't_ just bounce back," she said ruefully.

"He'll be okay, then?" Steve asked awkwardly.

"As much as anyone could be, under the circumstances," Phil said. "Only time will tell."

"Yeah," Steve murmured, looking down. Time seemed to be the defining factor in everything, lately. He only hoped "time" would ultimately be kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Irish Cottage](http://www.allmenus.com/ny/queens/25209-irish-cottage/menu/) is a real restaurant in Forest Hills, Queens. The prices are a little up there, but not nearly as bad as some other New York restaurants.
> 
> [The Sacred Band of Thebes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_band_of_thebes) was a unit in ancient Greece made up entirely of homosexual couples, under the belief that you would fight with everything you had to protect your lover.
> 
> Mal and Zoe, of course, refers to Malcolm Reynolds and Zoe Allyne of [Firefly](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Firefly), who are noted in canon to be completely loyal to each other, and also that any kind of romantic or sexual relationship between them is ridiculous. I have nothing against Clintasha, but that's not the dynamic for this universe.
> 
> And now we know what happened to Selvig after the end of the movie in this universe. A normal human of over sixty just isn't going to bounce back from obsession-induced sleep deprivation, unintentional starvation, and overworking for a week, to say nothing of the psychological effects of the mind control on a civilian brain. If Clint's still having issues, Selvig _really_ is.


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